


Never Say Die

by JulianObviouslyLovesToad



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Sexual Situations, Crossdressing, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Recovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-20 17:28:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3658956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulianObviouslyLovesToad/pseuds/JulianObviouslyLovesToad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Happiness has always been fleeting for Mortimer, but when a stranger talks him away from a suicide attempt he feels that he may have a chance at something substantive for once. But, things are not as easy as they may seem for Mortimer and his new friend - dare he hope for something more? - in such a politically charged climate, with painful memories hiding just under the surface. Join Mortimer and Julian as they try to find their place in a world full of powerful mutants, secret organizations, second shift jobs and seedy dive bars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own X-Men or any of the characters therein.
> 
> This chapter contains suicidal thoughts/plans, a referenced past suicide attempt, consumption of an alcoholic beverage, mildly threatening language, mildly homophobic language, and racist language.

“Don’t do it, love,” Mortimer heard, but the words barely registered. He was too busy staring off down the road at all the cars that approached, sped by. He was waiting for another semi, something big. “Whatever it is that troubles you is only temporary.” He shook his head at the voice. It was calm, low, soothing, and had a bit of a Welsh accent. Tears sprang up in his eyes. Now was not the time to be having second thoughts, he reminded himself. “What is it, girl trouble? Come have a drink with me. We can talk about it.” The offer finally made Mortimer turn and look.

The other wasn’t at all what he expected, all big blue eyes and blonde curls pulled back in a low ponytail. The kinky bit of hair that covered the left side of his face gave the Welshman a more innocent and feminine look about him than what Mortimer had perceived in his mind’s eye. He wore a red polo and khakis, held a paper bag of groceries in one arm. His free hand was extended toward Mortimer. 

Mortimer’s lips parted for a moment before he pursed them and shook his head.

“No,” he said, “No, I can’t. This needs to end.” The brunette looked off down the road again, realizing he missed a semi. He huffed out a sigh. The other seemed surprised at Toad’s accent.

“What does? Come on, love,” the blonde suggested. “Bus stop is right over here. We can go back to my place and chat.” Mortimer jumped at the hand on his shoulder, because really, who willingly touched him? He turned again to meet a devastating look of concern in those crystalline eyes. “Love, please.” He wanted to melt into the other at the soothing voice, press into the palm and fingers as they slipped down over the shoulder of his trench coat and gently gripped his bicep.

“You,” Mortimer’s voice cracked on a sob he’d managed to hold back until that point, “You wouldn’t like me.” He swallowed a lump in his throat, turning away once more, though then he looked at the ground rather than watched cars pass. Progress, the blonde hoped.

“Isn’t that for me to decide?” the blonde teased a bit, hoping to lighten the mood. It seemed to work as the brunette looked back at him, blinking tears out of his eyes, cocking his head ever so slightly. The too-wide mouth pouted and his brows rose slowly, questioning the other’s motives. Mortimer’s lips parted again for a brief moment before he closed them and pouted. “Julian,” the blonde offered his name. “You are?”

“Toad,” was all Mortimer offered for the moment. He wanted to give his real name, but didn’t feel like making this young man responsible for identifying his remains when he was finally splattered across the highway.

Julian moved his hand to the other’s back. “Toad,” he said. “Is that a nickname?” Mortimer tensed at the overly-friendly contact from the stranger. He let himself be led away from the roadside anyway, neglecting to answer for the moment as he noticed a bit of tension fade from the blonde’s- from Julian’s features.

“Yea’,” Mortimer mumbled after some time, his shoulders sagging. He pulled his coat tighter around himself and pulled at a loose button. “Been called that for so long it might as well be my name.”

“I’ve been called ‘Flicker’,” Julian offered with a warm smile that the other didn’t see.

“Why that?” Mortimer asked, knitting his brow.

“Ah, can’t show you in public, love. Don’t want to draw too much attention to us, eh?” When Toad looked up, he found blue eyes sparkling with mirth. The young man leading him toward a bus stop. “I can show you at my place, if you’re willing to go that is. I just got a bottle of Mumm’s. We could share it. Or, I could drop my things off and change right quick, then we could go out for a drink. Ah think you could use one, eh? Might get you talkin’.” Julian kept smiling, his hand firm on Mortimer’s back. The shorter man just let himself be directed onto the bus, offered to hold Julian’s groceries as he paid the fare. For both of them. 

The ride would have been quiet, awkwardly tense, if Julian hadn’t filled it with idle chatter. As it turned out, the young-ish man, twenty-eight, worked at a local retail store, cash most of the time, truck crew when needed. He’d been on the line that night, which was why he appeared so ‘disheveled’, as he put it. He said he enjoyed the evenings he was pulled from the register to work in the back, build up a good sweat and banter with the guys, though he wouldn’t want to do it every night. After ten minutes or so of Julian just talking, Mortimer started to relax a bit, feeling less like he’d been robbed of an opportunity and more like, more- he regarded the younger man with a curious stare as he tried to figure out how he felt - more normal, he decided. Bland, boring, average, wonderful. His company didn’t seem to have the weight of the constant threat of war, of violence over him, he didn’t seem to think that someone would want to hurt him just for existing. He couldn’t be a mutant in that case, Toad reasoned. He resolved himself not to tell the other that he was, not wanting to lose his chance to have a friend. Not that the other couldn’t tell, he thought, if he really looked. 

Off the bus, it was still a short ways to Julian’s place, a little apartment; red brick building, second floor, one bedroom. Agonizingly average, blissfully discreet and warm, so different from the cold, unforgiving metal he’d grown accustomed to in recent years while being at Magneto’s beck and call.

“Make yourself at home, love,” Julian said, stepping into the kitchen. After a moment, his head poked around the corner, hair dangling over his shoulders. “Did you want to go out or stay here?”

“Uh,” Mortimer stammered, twisting his fingers in his slacks, “staying here is fine.”

“Alright,” Julian nearly cheered. “Just let me put things up real quick, then I’ll bring in the champagne. Where are you staying?” the blonde asked conversationally.  
“A, um, hotel on fifth,” Toad answered. He wasn’t really staying there anymore, as he’d figured he’d be a mark on the road at that point. He’d left most of his things and they’d probably been thrown out already, since he’d been lingering around the highway rather than ‘getting down to business’.

Mortimer heard a cabinet close and Julian appeared around the small white wall that separated the main living space from the kitchen.

“On fifth? I really hope it’s not Clara’s,” he said, looking at the brunette expectantly.

“Yeah, it was- is,” he corrected himself quickly. “Why?”

“That place is terrible. I stayed there for three months when I first moved to the city and they were so rude,” Julian answered with a shake of his head, turning back to the kitchen. He continued putting up the groceries as he went on; “They didn’t clean my room at all or ever change the sheets, and never gave me any access to implements with which ta clean it myself.” He huffed over the sound of clinking glasses. “They also made fun of my accent,” he groused as he crossed the short distance from the kitchen to the sofa, sitting down right next to Toad, who seemed a bit surprised by the willing closeness.

“I know how that feels,” Mortimer said with a slight nod. 

“They kept misplacing me, too. Kept calling me a Brit when I’m-“

“From Wales,” Toad answered.

“Exactly, love!” Julian cheered, producing a pocket knife and using the twisted tool to uncork the bottle. He poured a glass for Mortimer and handed it over before pouring his own. “Ah, you’re from… Let me guess,” he said, taking a long pull from his glass. He leaned back into the well-worn couch, crossing his legs in a fashion Mortimer noted as ‘feminine’. “England. In the North. Maybe somewhere in Yorkshire, maybe Durham or Cumbria?” he trailed off, tilling his head slightly.

“Right on the money, first shot,” Toad answered, taking a sip from the tall glass. “York.”

“Mm, and why are you in the States, love? Don’t tell me you came all the way here just to,” he trailed off for a moment, bringing the glass down to his lap, playing with the stem for a moment before lifting his free hand to wave it through the air as if grabbing at words, “ya know, die,” he finally said, rather bluntly.

Mortimer was shocked for a moment, then let out a bark of laughter. Julian cocked his head yet again, but looked pleased with the reaction.

“No,” the brunette said, shaking his head, his greasy hair swishing about, “No, that’s not it. I came here with some people, but they abandoned me a while back.”

“That’s shitty,” Julian says, “But you simply can’t stay at that hotel. I’ll have to help you find a better one. Hell, my couch here would provide you with a better service than those arseholes.”

Toad inclined his head slightly, wondering if that was an offer. He ignored the hope, taking a long pull from his drink. 

“Wasn’t really plannin’ on hangin’ around,” he admitted quietly. “You know,” and trailed off.

“Why not, love? I mean, what has you so down that you could up and do that?”

The shorter man remained silent for the longest of moments. He drained the rest of his glass, and Julian was quick to refill it. Toad opened his mouth in an attempt to speak a few times, but nothing came out. His lungs felt full of words, but the filter in his throat and the weight on his tongue kept him silent. Too many years of not giving those ideas a voice left him without the words to express himself.

“I don’t know. I guess,” he stopped again to take another sip of his drink, watching Julian watch him, even as the blonde poured himself another glass. “Are you in the habit of picking up strangers?” Mortimer asked, deciding to turn the conversation back on the other, to get that questioning gaze off of him.

“When it suits my fancy,” Julian said, his curious expression growing into a smirk, somehow maintaining an almost-innocent look. “If you care to look, you can tell when someone needs a shoulder.”

“I could be a murderer or a rapist or something worse,” Mortimer countered, raising a brow.

“So could Mike from work,” Julian shot back, shrugging slightly, “and what’s worse than a murderer or rapist?”

“Ya know, one of those, what do you call them?”

“If you’re talking about muties or poofs, you can finish your glass and then leave. I won’t have any of that talk in my place.” Julian’s face hardened in an instant. Mortimer blinked a few times.

“Wot?” the brunette asked, trying to figure out if the man was for or against the proposed concepts.

“I don’t deal well with bigotry, love. You can’t help the way you’re born.”

In that moment, Mortimer has the strong urge to reach out and hug the man. He almost did.

“I’m-” and Mortimer found himself at a loss for words, though a much more positive one than the previous. “I’m sorry,” he said, ducking his chin to his chest even though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his slightly-too-wide lips. “I didn’t mean to come off as though I were anti-mutant. I really didn’t.”

Julian relaxed a bit and repositioned his legs, leaning away from Mortimer, bracing himself on one elbow on the arm of the sofa. “And the other thing?” he asked, tilting his glass this way and that, looking over it at the brunette.

“Other thing?” Toad asked, trailing off, his brows knitting together. “Oh,” he said after a moment. “You mean queers?”

“Whatever term you want to use, mate.” Upon hearing this, Mortimer started to notice a pattern in the terms of endearment the younger man was using; love was personal, mate was guarded. 

“Why? Are you queer?” asked the brunette, toeing off his battered shoes and pulling his feet up under him.

“Like being a mutant,” Julian started, kicking off his own runners, “it’s not something you go around admitting if you are.”

“I suppose it’s not,” Mortimer said with a sigh. He polished off yet another glass and gave a sheepish grin as he held it out, asking for another. Julian poured him a third and watched him closely for a long moment. A silence stretched between them and the blonde considered turning on the new, small TV he’d purchased not even a week ago. It was small enough that it didn’t take up the entire desk he’d gotten for display and storage. It was downright tiny for an affordable television. With Julian’s eyes elsewhere, Mortimer found the courage to speak; “Can’t you tell I’m a mutant?”

“I try not to assume anything,” Julian said, looking back to him. “What do you do?”

“Well, I didn’t get the name ‘Toad’ for nothin’,” Mortimer answered a bit bitterly. Julian cocked his head curiously and looked over the other and his reserved posture, took in how he was curled in on himself. “I jump, ya know, like a frog, a toad. I have a bit of a tongue,” Mortimer said, laughing at the way Julian’s eyebrows rose. “That was a recent development. It wasn’t always that way.

“You never answered my question,” Toad said, giving a shy glance up from his knees and glass.

“Hmm?” the blonde hummed, taking another sip of his quickly draining glass.

“Are you, ya know,” his voice got quiet as he continued; “a homosexual?”

“Not exclusively,” Julian said around the lip of the glass. He finished his glass before he continued; “I like women plenty well, prefer them, actually. Though I like my women sturdy.”

“Sturdy?” Mortimer asked, straightening a bit. 

“Ya know, strong. I like women who act like men, but still like men, if that makes sense. The kind who wear pants and have jobs, smoke cigarettes and pop gum and aren’t concerned by their weight or make-up.”

“Most would assume those women would be lesbians,” Toad said with a slight snicker.

“Not at all true,” Julian said, smirking as he poured himself another glass. He topped off Toad’s and leaned back, leaving his legs uncrossed. “There’s just something about a woman who can keep up with me. It’s unbelievably charming. Even better if she can outdo me. I hear it runs in my family. My mother was apparently very, very strong.”

“Apparently?”

“Didn’t know ‘er,” Julian explained. “Only knew muh dad for about six years, but he told me stories about my mum. She might’ve been a mutant.”

“Might have?”

“Yeah, can’t tell ya for sure, but she was ‘unnaturally strong’, my dad would say.”

“I didn’t really know my parents, either.”

“I’m sorry, love.”

“Don’t be. They left me at an orphanage in York because I looked like a freak even as a baby,” Mortimer said, his voice oozing with bitterness. Julian raised an eyebrow dramatically. “What?”

“I assume you look different now?” Julian asked, setting his glass on the floor. He pulled out his hair tie and ran his fingers through his curls, carefully avoiding the strip by his face.

“Well, obviously I grew up,” Mortimer supplied. “But not really. You don’t think I look like a freak?”

“Not particularly. You’re a little overweight and your skin is a bit, uh, ashen, but I assumed that was because you hadn’t bathed in a while. No offense meant.”

“Oh, and my smell,” Toad said and sighed through his nose. “It doesn’t really wash off.”

“I hadn’t even noticed it, love. Have you been in the city long? It reeks. I hardly think anyone would notice. If they did, they’d probably just assume you’ve been outside too long.” Julian let out a small, irritated noise as his fingers got caught in a tangle. “Hey, I’ll be back in a sec. I’m going to go get a hairbrush. Working the truck leaves my hair in tangles.” Julian stood and disappeared through a thin doorway that Mortimer hadn’t noticed before, possibly because the poster on the door made it blend in with the surrounding décor. The brunette briefly considered leaving while the younger man was in the other room. His heart was beating a bit faster than usual, and he felt a strange fluttering in his stomach. He put it up to the champagne and waited, playing with the hole in the toe area of his left sock.

“Alright, I’m back,” the blonde announced as he came through the door, closing it behind him. He sat back on the sofa, his thigh brushing Mortimer’s knee as he sat. “So,” he started, pulling the bristles of the brush through his locks, “you said ‘was’ earlier, when talking about that hotel. Where you staying now?”

“Ah,” Toad sputtered. “I wasn’t really planning on, uh, sticking around.”

Julian stopped brushing his hair for a moment, cleaning out the brush awkwardly as he wasn’t looking at it. Rather, he was looking at Mortimer, frowning slightly.

“You didn’t have a contingency plan in case you failed?”

“I didn’t think I’d fail if I got the right truck going fast enough.”

“You’re sturdy-looking. You don’t seem the type who’d die if hit by a vehicle. Hell, you could probably jump from fairly high and survive that, too.”

“Heh, you don’t know the half of it,” Mortimer said with a shake of his head. He finished off his glass while Julian once more looked at him, searching. 

“There’s more if ya want it,” Julian offered, pushing the bottle toward Mortimer with a socked foot. Toad filled his glass before either of them said another word. “It sounds like there’s a story behind that,” the blonde said, returning to brushing his hair.

“Heh, Spider-Man wouldn’t let me die. The people below wanted me to, though,” Mortimer muttered into the glass he’d just filled.

“Fuck them, then. They can piss off.” Mortimer snorted at the angry outburst from the blonde. “People are so bloodthirsty. It’s gross.” He grunted as he hit another tangle in his locks, pulling at it. “You need to surround yourself with positive influences. If someone would abandon you, they don’t deserve you. Though, I wouldn’t say that to everyone, ya know. Some people are just bad people, but you don’t seem the type." After a pause, he added; "Spider-Man, though. That's aces."

“I don’t know, I’ve done some pretty bad things in my day.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Not really, sorry,” Toad muttered around a mouthful. “Maybe later.” Julian brightened at the words, giving the brunette a brilliant smile. 

“Later? Mean you plan on sticking around?”

“Doesn’t look like I have much of a choice, mate. You seem intent on keeping me alive,” Toad tried to joke.

“You’re damn right I do,” Julian said, finally brushing out the strip of hair that hung over the left side of his face. Mortimer got a brief glimpse of some scarring near his eye and over the skin over his cheekbone. It was soon covered again by the bright blonde strip that curled at the end. He also had a bit of old greenish-blue and yellow bruising on his cheekbone. It looked well into the healing process.

“You’ve got a black eye,” Mortimer said, trying to take the attention off of himself for a moment so he could get his pulse under control, “What happened?”

Julian gave a sour smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“I mistook someone for being something they weren’t.”

“Flirt with the wrong guy?”

“Mmhm,” Julian answered. He sat down the brush and picked up his glass, taking a sip.

“I’m surprised that none of my behavior has ever been mistaken for flirting,” Mortimer pondered aloud. “Or maybe it has, and that’s why so many people seem to hate me.”

“People are the worst.”

“So, you didn’t have any reaction to me being a mutant,” Toad said, once more starting to curl in on himself. “Can I ask why? I’ve met so few humans that don’t, uh, take issue with, well, with it.”

“People take issue with everything,” Julian said, shaking his head. “I don’t know, really. Most things that ‘aren’t normal’,” he said, using quote-fingers with his free hand, “just don’t bother me.

You’re a fag, a mutant, a nigger, a woman, a man who feels like a woman; eh. It doesn’t really affect me, so why should I care? Besides, I wouldn’t want to wind up being one of those self-haters. I love myself,” he trailed off for a moment and nodded his head to both sides as if considering something. “Most of the time, anyway. I’m not perfect, but, ya know, no one is. Ya try to fix what you can and learn to live with what you can’t.” Mortimer found himself blushing for a reason he couldn’t put a finger on, his cheeks tinting with pink. “So, ya need a place to crash, love?” the blonde asked in a dramatic subject change that caught the other off guard. He tried to sputter out a question in response, making Julian titter. “You can use my couch if ya want. I don’t have a whole lot of spare space for things, but I can find the space for yer basics, I’m sure.”

“I, uh, don’t think I have things anymore,” Toad muttered. “The hotel probably threw them out,” he said, answering the question in Julian’s gaze. 

“Oh, right,” Julian said and pursed his lips. “We can go up there tomorrow. They’re a bit afraid of me, so if they still have your things, they won’t be a bitch about it. Sound like a plan?”

“You sure you’re alright with me staying here? I could be a murderer for all you know.”

“Hun, I really don’t think you could kill me if you tried,” Julian said, smirking. He stood and looked back at Mortimer.

“Is that a challenge?” Mortimer teased.

“Nonsense,” the blonde said with a laugh and a shake of his head. “Anyway, if you want a shower or to use the restroom, you oughta do it soon. I’m gonna go to bed and need to brush up and the like.”

Toad hopped up, the pink on his cheeks that had faded returning as he took in the smile on the other’s face at his little hop. Mortimer reached out timidly, brushing his fingers over Julian’s arm. He got a feel for the soft, nearly invisibly blonde fuzz on the strongly chorded limb before pulling back. Julian stopped shifting about and stood still, looking down at the shorter man. 

“Thanks,” Mortimer said, averting his gaze.

“Hey,” the blonde said, taking the shorter man’s coated bicep in a gentle grip, making Toad look up, “Don’t worry about it, okay?” Mortimer got caught in an intensely icy blue stare, noticing the way salmon lips quirked slightly more on the right side than the left as Julian offered a warm smile. The brunette found his eyes lidding, leaning forward, lips pursed. He noticed the other’s eyes lidding as well and brought his hand up over Julian’s. After a moment, he found his lips in contact with Julian’s fingers. “I didn’t bring you here to earn myself a pity fuck, love. Don’t think you owe me anything. If you want to stay for a while, we can work something out later.” Julian pulled away and grabbed his glass, downing what was left in it. “Do you want the rest of this?” he asked, nudging the bottle. Mortimer, dumbfounded at the thought that he could be on the giving end of a pity fuck, nodded. “Right, good. I’ll get you a pillow and blanket. I don’t work tomorrow, so we can go to that bloody hotel as soon as you’re awake enough.”

Mortimer spent most of the night curled up on the sofa with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, trying to process the events of the day. Eventually, he dozed off, wrapped around the pillow, clutching it to his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains homophobic and racist language as well as mild violence.

_The sheer amount of noise is overwhelming for Mortimer._

_There is no physical sensation; he thinks he may be in shock. A strip of metal, a strange thing that curls around his bare foot – his purple shoe lost to whatever fight they were in lost long ago – and up his orange clad leg like a snake, yet he can’t feel it. He can’t feel the chill or the hardness of the unforgiving steel, can’t feel the pull of the magnetism used to contort the piece, can’t feel the way it tightens until it is clearly digging into his skin, tearing open his spandex. He’s glad he can’t feel it, for it would be excruciating in the tightness on his well-defined calf. His relief is short-lived as he is forcefully yanked by his ankle and lower leg, and maybe it breaks, but at least the plasma blast that would’ve taken off his head missed him._

_Instead it hits a car, upending it, sending it flying into a building. The sounds are sickening, deafening, and Toad can’t cover his ears because he’s too shocked to move, even dangling upside down in the midst of a mutant-human-mutant firefight. Gunfire erupts everywhere; semi-automatics in the distance, handguns, both silenced and not sound off close by, and both still contribute to the cacophony. A chunk of ice falls to the ground and shatters, fires hiss and pop nearby. Every piece of metal creaks, croaks, groans or sings – hailing Magneto’s presence._

_“Fool,” the master of magnetism says, as coolly as the metal he manipulates, “you are useless.”_

_The ground is brown and grey and utterly destroyed. He can’t quite remember what it had once been, even as the fight still rages. Regardless of what it was before, it is still unyielding as he is dropped to the ground and his appreciation at the lack of sensation is overshadowed by a feeling of helplessness. He can’t move to defend himself, can’t even reach out toward one of Magneto’s belted boots as the man walks by and away._

_“Worthless,” he hears Magneto’s voice as if it is in his ear, “I don’t know why I ever saved you to begin with.”_

Wakefulness didn’t come as a surprise to Mortimer, and he didn’t move other than opening his eyes. He had long since broken himself of starting awake from nightmares.  
  
“Bad dream, love?” Julian asked, after giving the other a moment to get his bearings, to remember where he was. Toad slowly turned his head in the direction that the accented voice came from. He found the other standing just out of striking distance, wearing an off-white button-down and blue jeans, looking slightly unsure and wholly concerned.  
  
“Yeah,” was all Toad said as he slowly pried his face from the pillow he clutched and relaxed his death-grip on it.

“I made eggs and sausage and coffee, but I don’t know how much solid food you should eat after a dream like that,” Julian said, offering the older man a glass of water. It nearly slipped from his hand as Mortimer tried to take hold of it, but Julian caught it with one hand, and Mortimer’s hand with the other. He gently pressed on the back of Toad’s hand until he gripped the glass, smiling softly even as the other muttered apologies. “It’s alright. I know what a bad dream can do, love. I’ll make you some toast, and if you can keep that down, I’ll reheat the food, alright?” Mortimer nodded and Julian gave another smile and a gentle pat to the older man’s knee before straightening out and walking the short distance to the kitchen. 

Toad sipped his water while Julian made him some toast. Julian brought it over without a plate, sitting next to the brunette, holding it out. Mortimer set aside the pillow that he’d been holding to his chest with one arm at the same time that he sat the glass of water on the hardwood floor in front of him. He took a deep breath and turned toward Julian, keeping his feet curled up under him. He studied the other’s face as he accepted the two pieces of toast. Julian had bags under his eyes, slight crow’s feet, and he looked a bit more pale than he had the previous day, but he still smiled. 

“How long have you been awake?” Toad asked after a few bites. His voice was rough with sleep, he felt as though he’d been screaming.

“Oh,” Julian said, sounding distant. He looked off toward the clock on the wall above the cluttered dining room table. “A few hours,” he said, noting that it was quarter after seven.

“Hours? It’s only-“ Mortimer stopped, considering the time. “Did I wake you?” he asked, his voice tiny and fearful.

“No, no, hun, you didn’t,” Julian said, sitting up straight from where he’d started to recline. He reached out and put a hand on Mortimer’s knee. “You really didn’t. Just,” he stopped and pulled his hand back, running it through his hair on the side without the strip, “I know what it’s like to have bad dreams.” He gave a short, bitter laugh. He turned further toward the older man and put the hand back on his knee. Mortimer was still stunned by the willing contact from the other, the arguably handsome, friendly, if not effeminate, young man. “If you ever want to talk about what happens in your dreams, go ahead. But, you don’t have to.” Julian pulled away and stood up. He stretched and groaned, and though Mortimer felt a blush prickling at his cheeks at the sounds, he caught another glimpse of Julian’s scars and inclined his head curiously.

“Thanks,” Toad said softly. He finished his toast silently, watching the blonde out of the corner of his eye. He felt mildly nauseated, the toast seemed to be meeting words that bubbled up in his throat. “What do you dream about?”

“Oh, things,” Julian said as he retrieved his plate from the kitchen counter. It only had a few scattered bits of egg and sausage left on it. The blonde used a fork to scoop some of the scrambled eggs into his mouth, chewed and swallowed before he continued; “Being chased if it’s a bad’n. Dogs. Nasty little things, slobbering all over everything. I can almost feel it dripping on my back and I think like I might go deaf when they bark.” He leaned against the small section of wall that divided the kitchen from the rest of the apartment. He took a few more bites and looked up and to his right in consideration of his next words. “I know why I have bad dreams, ya know. I’m terrified of the police,” he said, his voice rough and small.

“The police?” Mortimer asked, face contorted in confusion. The muscles slowly relaxed when the other’s reasoning dawned on him. “Oh,” he said quietly, “because you’re queer?”

Nnh,” Julian grunted in response. 

“Won’t you just be fined and let go?”

“It depends. Could be booked, made to spend days or even weeks in jail. I’d lose my job, my place. Copper could blackmail me into fuckin’ him. Could blackmail me for money, and if I don’t put up, I could go to jail for a long time. Not to mention I’m a foreigner. Yes, from a friendly nation, but still. There’s a lot they could find that could ruin me. I’d have to run again.”

“Again?” Mortimer asked. He finished his toast as he waited for Julian to speak.

“A story for another time, perhaps. How’s your stomach holding up? Feel like some real food, mate?”

Toad almost winced. Mate. Guarded. The blonde was hiding something. A lot of somethings, actually. Though Mortimer did feel slightly relieved, like he wasn’t in the care of an angel anymore, just someone who’d seen some shit. Even human, the other seemed to know what it was like to be judged before a personality could even show, let alone shine.

“I could stomach some eggs, yeah,” the older man muttered.

Without a word, Julian got the other a small plate and filled it with eggs. He placed a fork on the side and handed it to Mortimer as he sat next to him. As Toad ate, the blonde picked up the bottle of champagne from the floor. It had about a finger’s width left. He tipped it back, and smirked at Toad’s raised eyebrow.

“Can’t let it go to waste, can we?”

Once Mortimer finished eating, Julian took the dishes and the bottle to the kitchen, plunking them down in the sink. He finished off the eggs and offered Mortimer some sausage. Once the food was gone, the cooking implements went in the sink with the plates. 

“Let’s give that about a half hour to settle,” Julian said, patting his stomach, “then we’ll go find your things.” He paused and looked thoughtful. “I bet the morning news is on. Fancy a listen?” Julian asked, plucking a cigarette from a pack that seemed to materialize out of thin air. He offered one to Mortimer as he lit it, but the older man declined.  
  
Even though Mortimer didn’t answer, trying to sputter out a response, Julian turned on the tube anyway. A woman in a high-collared, white dress shirt spoke of a ‘doomsday’ of sorts, with a grim tone and expression. She recounted tales of a mutant who went by ‘Magneto’, and Julian didn’t miss the way Mortimer tensed. The blonde frowned and got up to turn the television off. 

“You know ‘im?” Julian asked conversationally, lighting another cigarette with the end of his first one.

“You could say that,” Toad stated blandly, staring at the blank screen.

“He wouldn’t happen to be one of your friends that abandoned you, would he?” Julian asked, raising a brow. Mortimer winced. “Nail on the head, eh?”

“He’s,” Mortimer stopped to run a hand through his hair, grimacing at how greasy it felt, “he is not my friend. I had hoped, but,” he trailed off and chanced a look at the younger man. “You aren’t going to be afraid of me or kick me out, are you?”

“For what?”

“Magneto has no problem with killing humans. He,” the brunette loosely gestured with one hand, “wants to.”

“I can understand why,” Julian said, looking thoughtful for a moment. “Doesn’t mean I condone it, but I understand.”

“How? Wh- Uh,” Mortimer sputtered, blinking rapidly as he looked at Julian.

“Ya been treated like shit for how ye’re born your entire life, you’re gonna want revenge, ‘n’ you can’t always get back at those who hurt ya. You’ll end up lashing out at others or turning it in on yourself, if you’re not careful,” Julian explained, stubbing his cigarette out on an ashtray that appeared much in the way that his cigarettes did. 

“What did you do?” Toad asked, his voice barely audible.

“Heh,” the blonde chuckled bitterly, “well, I didn’t smoke or drink eight years ago, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Eight? You just found out you like men eight years ago?” 

“Oh, that?” Julian looked surprised briefly, then he smiled. “No,” he said with a shake of his head, “I kinda always knew, I think. Never really differentiated between men and women as romantic or sexual partners, really. I realized people had a problem with men who like men when I was about, oh, twelve.” The age given sounded more like a question than a statement.

“Does that ever really get to you?”

“Of course it does. It’s rather dumb to stop love, innit? Don’t matter what god you look to. Love’s supposed to be good. But, some just isn’t, apparently. Life goes on. Ya find it anyway, too.” Julian leaned back and grinned. “There’s ways and places. Ain’t nobody gonna stop nobody. Not all of ‘em. Been fags since Adam realized what a bitch Eve was.”  
Mortimer snorted at the comment, a grin splitting his wide mouth.

“There’s a real smile,” Julian said, reaching out to pat Mortimer’s leg. “Wanna get your shoes on, and we’ll get goin’ to Clara’s?”

“Sure,” Toad said with a nod.

Mortimer tried really hard not to laugh. He found himself, about an hour later, standing behind the blonde as he strode into the office of the hotel aggressively. He never thought he’d describe someone’s walk as aggressive, it was just a walk, after all, but the way Julian walked up had the young man behind the counter going pale and babbling.

“Yap yap yap,” Julian said, making a mocking gesture with his hand, “just tell me where my friend’s things are.” The man behind the desk mumbled something and Julian slammed his palms on the counter. The other flinched dramatically. “You’re kidding. You didn’t hold on to them just in case he wound up in the hospital, or something?” He waited for a response, getting one that Mortimer couldn’t hear, but Julian was obviously displeased by. “That’s fine. I’m going to be tearing up your garbage, then.”

Julian stormed out, and Mortimer hurried to keep up. He followed the blonde around behind the building. He watched as the other upended garbage cans, pouring them out.  
“Ah,” Mortimer started, his face tinting with pink. Luckily Julian didn’t look up from his task, scouring the garbage for anything that could be Toad’s personal effects. “Oh, there,” Mortimer said, reaching out for a ratty old backpack. “I didn’t have too much,” the brunette said as he looked through the bag, finding everything he’d had in it still there. “I had some clothes, too. Just a couple of shirts and a pair of pants.”

“What are you doing? You’re banned from this place. Or did you forget, Mr. Swindlehurst?” Julian cringed at the grating voice and turned a glare behind Mortimer, who turned to look and recognized the manager. 

“We’re almost done here,” Julian offered, turning up yet another can. 

“Or you could leave now before we get the police involved,” the manager said, resting her hand on her hip. She glared down her sharp nose at Julian, and turned the look to Mortimer a moment later. The shorter man shrank back, bumping into Julian who’d walked up behind him. Julian braced his hands on Toad’s shoulders, giving a gentle squeeze. 

“Maybe we should go,” the brunette mumbled.

“What about your clothes, love?” Julian asked. His words made the manager’s already disgusted look take on a whole new level of hatred. 

“It- It’s fine,” Mortimer stuttered out.

“It’s not fine,” Julian said, taking to Toad’s side. The blonde turned big, concerned eyes at Mortimer, who felt almost like he had whiplash from the taller man’s rapid shift in emotion. Thin, salmon lips became puffy as he pouted slightly and Mortimer let out a soft whine, a wordless explanation of how torn he was. “I can buy you a couple outfits, I guess,” Julian offered. 

“I think that would be for the best, Mr. Swindlehurst,” the manager spat, brown eyes narrowed at the two. “If I see either of you- you mutie loving faggots on my property again, I’ll-“

Toad lost his breath as the blonde turned on the small, sharp-angled woman so quickly, he would swear he felt heat lick up his front – an invisible fire kissing his features and making him break out in a sweat.

“You’ll what?” Julian asked, shoulders hunched.

The woman lifted the brown coat she wore away from her peach blouse, showing a glint of metal tucked into her brown pencil-skirt. 

“That’s what I’ll do, Nancy.”

When Julian’s lip turned up in a snarl, Mortimer stepped in and spoke for him; “It’s alright, ma’am. We don’t want any problems. We’ll leave.”

“See to it that you do, and quickly.”

The manager watched them down the street, her hand resting on her hip near her piece the entire time. 

“You’re either really brave or really stupid,” Toad said in the same breath as he let out a sigh of relief. He took a glance over his shoulder, back toward the hotel before relaxing further.

“I’ve been called both,” the blonde said with a good-natured chuckle, taking a cigarette from seemingly nowhere. “Smoke?”

This time, Mortimer accepted one, letting Julian light the end for him, watching the blue eyes sparkle as he did so. The first breath of smoke curled up and around them, leaving the two in their own little world for a moment, Julian smiling softly, maybe a bit deviously; Mortimer’s heartbeat picking up again. 

“Why?” Toad asked quietly. 

“Why what?” the other asked, his head tilting to the side. The curl of hair fell away from his scarring, but Toad couldn’t take his eyes away from the bright blue ones in front of him to examine it.

“Why do you stand up for me?” Mortimer asked before taking a drag of his cigarette. Julian took a few puffs of his own before he responded;

“Someone has to.” The blonde waved away the lingering smoke, and just like that the moment was broken. “How’s a drink sound, love? A drink sounds good to me.”

“It’s not even noon yet,” Toad said with a wrinkled brow.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Julian answered with a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I accidentally made Julian an alcoholic. Oops.
> 
> This will not be a recurring theme in later stories.


	3. Chapter 3

Mortimer found himself trailing behind a surprisingly chipper blonde who led him to a bar. It was a small place and some tinny sounding country tune played over a speaker hidden somewhere amongst the dust. There were few customers and even fewer staff. In fact, only one person wore anything that could have possibly deemed them a worker at the small hole-in-the-wall.

A young woman with a dark brown bob had her knee up on a chair and was leaning on her elbows on a thin wooden table, clearly interested in the black gentleman sitting across from her. A dishcloth was stuffed into the black apron she wore over a white high-necked blouse, the only indicators of her position as barkeep, or at least as a server. She seemed enthralled in the story the man was telling her, and they both looked almost shocked when someone came in the door.

The shock quickly faded from their faces, and they seemed to recognize Julian. The man grinned broadly and waved him over.

The man sat up straight and extended his hand for a shake. “Hey, faggot,” he greeted cheerfully. Mortimer shook his head the tiniest bit, his eyes widening slightly.

“Hey nigger,” Julian greeted back, taking the man’s hand in a firm shake. Both smiled brightly and Mortimer balked.

“Juls, I think yer scarin’ your little friend there with your normie talk,” the young barkeep said, trying not to giggle. She covered her mouth with one blunt-nailed hand and watched Mortimer come back to himself from his surprise. “What can I getcha?” she asked.

Julian turned to the shorter man and put a hand on his arm. He offered an apologetic smile and led the other around to his front so the other two could get a look at him. “I’ll have a High Life. Not plannin’ on sticking around too terribly long. We’ve got some shopping to do today,” Julian said with a pleasant smile, his hands on Mortimer’s shoulders. “Just wanted somethin’ to settle the jitters and to see some friendly face, maybe introduce my friend here to my other friends.”

As the woman trotted off behind the bar, the man stood and offered his hand to Mortimer.

“Name’s Armando,” he said, adjusting his grip to match the shorter man’s more timid grasp. “I’m sorry if our course language earlier offended you. But our daytime crew here has a bit of a policy.” Armando stuffed his hands in his slacks as he continued; “We know who we are and how society sees us, and we don’t let that get in the way. We don’t care. We throw around words like ‘mutie’ and ‘faggot’, and even ‘nigger’, ‘kyke’ and ‘kraut’ because the more you say a word, the less power it has. Ain’t that right, kykette?” he asked as the woman returned with Julian’s beer. She held a glass of lemonade out to Mortimer.

She snorted in response, though she was smiling. “I’m not sure you can call someone who is Jewish by decent alone a ‘kyke’, but I don’t care if you call me that, you mutie ape,” she said, resting her hip against the table. “I figured you could use a beverage, but you don’t seem like the drinkin’ type,” She said, looking at Mortimer.

“That’s my girl,” Armando said fondly, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “This is my secret girlfriend Catherine, but we all call her Kitty.”

“I- I do drink, just not this early in the day,” Mortimer mumbled, looking the slightest bit ashamed and feeling quite frankly silly for having a weird hang-up over drinking before sun-down. “Secret?” he asked, cocking his head slightly.

“Shit,” Kitty answered with a roll of her eyes. “My dad would skin me alive if he knew I was dating a nigger,” she said and snorted again. She bumped her hip affectionately against the dark-skinned man, prompting him to rub his hand up and down her arm. “So what about you and blondie, eh? You two shacked up or somethin’?” She then turned to Julian. “‘Bout damn time you got a lover, ya half-faggot drunk. Maybe he’ll whip you into shape.” Mortimer’s face grew redder with each thing she said, and her grin became broader with each shade darker he turned.

“My goodness, no,” Julian supplied for Mortimer, who found himself unable to speak. “He’s just my roommate until he finds a new job, that’s all,” he answered, already more than halfway through his beer. “And just what do you mean ‘whip me into shape’? I’m in perfectly fine shape, thank you,” Julian said, not really looking all that offended.

“Yeah, and I’m the president of the United States,” Kitty said with a shake of her head and a small laugh. “You crack me up, Flicker. You’re always in here, whinin’ about how lonely you are, about how some girl didn’t want a second date or how some guy gave you a shiner ‘cuz you thought he was queer. Hones’ly, I’m a little disappointed that he ain’t a new lover. You ain’t had one in a while now an’ it shows on your tab. Hmm,” she said and put her finger and thumb to her lips. “Maybe I should shut up. I swear to god you keep this place open by drinkin’ away your paychecks here. You ‘n’ St. John over there,” she said with a nod toward a blonde in a corner. “Ain’t that right, holy man?”

“You c’n feel free to fuck off,” he responded, looking up from a note pad he was writing on. “I just like a quiet place to do my work.”

“Mmhm,” Kitty mumbled with a shake of her head.

“Well, alright, I guess we should get going over to the department store, love,” Julian said, putting his hand on the shorter man’s shoulder as he sipped at what was left of his sweet drink. “Gotta get you some clothes.”

“Love,” Kitty teased with a playful roll of her shoulders, batting her lashes at the two. Julian made a rude gesture at her, and she and Armando laughed.

“I don’t have that kind of money, Julian,” Mortimer whispered around the rim of his glass.

“I got you covered. A couple pairs of pants and a few shirts won’t set me back too much. Ya ready?”

“Yeah, I guess,” the smaller mutant said, setting his glass on the nearest table. “You don’t have to do this, you don’t have to, ya know, buy me anything,” he said as he watched Julian take out his wallet to pay Kitty for their drinks.

“Honey,” Kitty started, looking over at Toad, “I’m gonna tell you something right now. When a man opens his wallet for you, don’t question it. If Juls is gonna buy you some clothes, get the nicest clothes this goober will get you.” She grinned again at the re-reddening of Mortimer’s face. “Maybe if you give him a little sugar, you can get some ice. Julian fuckin’ spoils his lovers.”

“Alright, alrighht,” Julian said, waving her off. “Don’t tease him, Kitty. God, I wanted him to meet my friends, not be scared of my friends,” he groused, once more taking Mortimer by the shoulders. He steered the smaller man toward the door. “Assholes,” Julian groused.

“Ya love us. Don’t kid yerself,” Kitty said with a wink. “Come back soon. I happen to know you get paid tomorrow,” she teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” Julian said, waving his hand dismissively. Once they left the bar, Julian turned Mortimer to face him. “You OK? I should have warned you that they can be a little intense. I’m sorry for that.”

“No,” Mortimer started, “I mean yes, I’m fine. They seem,” he trailed off for a moment, “well, they seem interesting,” Toad answered honestly.

“I hope you’ll get to know them at some point. We can come back here on my next day off if you want. But right now we should get you some new clothes.” Julian played with the buttons of the smaller man’s shirts, humming absently when he found a loose one. Julian flinched when Mortimer brought his hand up and placed it over Julian’s.

“S-Sorry,” Toad muttered.

“Sorry, I,” Julian said at the same time. He chuckled softly, letting Mortimer feel out his knuckles with his thumb for a moment before pulling away. “I’m not used to people touching me when I’m sober, heh,” he said, having the decency to look bashful. “I’m usually the one who does the touching, and besides,” he said, looking off down the street. He looked one way, then the other. “It’s not really something we should be doing in public anyway.”

Julian refused to meet Mortimer’s eyes, and the shorter man looked up at the lidded, averted baby-blues anyway. He hadn’t actually meant anything by the touch. He’d just been trying to get Julian’s attention to insist that he needn’t buy anything for him, but had become distracted by just how broad and strong the seemingly effeminate man’s hands were. His knuckles were knobby, like they’d been broken before.

“I’m sorry, I just- I just really wanted to tell you that you don’t have to buy me anything. I don’t deserve- I don’t need it,” Mortimer admitted and corrected himself, a bit ashamed that the words had come out of his mouth.

“How’re you going to get a job without some decent clothes, huh?” Julian asked, smoothing out the wrinkles in Mortimer’s coat. “And don’t you ever say that you don’t deserve something. I don’t care what you’ve done, love. You deserve to take care of yourself, and if you can’t do that right now, I’ll do it for you.”

Mortimer looked up from where he’d turned his gaze to their shoes. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of the sad smile on those lovely features. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come out. Eventually he forced out a croaking noise and his face heated at the way Julian’s sad smile became an amused smirk. He turned away with a grunt and a muttered “well, that was embarrassing.”

“Let’s go buy you a couple’a outfits, love,” Julian said, letting his fingers linger on the other’s shoulders for a moment longer than he probably should have.

A few hours later, Mortimer found himself with two pairs of slacks – a brown pair and a black pair, two new pairs of shoes – slick, dressy black things and a navy blue pair of runners, several shirts – button downs in white, light blue and yellow, and a couple polos and T-shirts, a pair of jeans, several pairs of briefs and socks and a splitting headache. He sat down on Julian’s small sofa next to the piles of clothes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I didn’t think this through beforehand,” Julian said, toeing off his loafers. “I need to figure out where we’re going to store this. I have almost no room anywhere.” He seemed uncertain for a moment, rubbing his bottom lip with one finger. “I guess I could stand to clean out my closet,” he muttered to himself. Then he noticed Mortimer’s pained look. “What’s wrong, love?” he asked, kneeling in front of the other.

Mortimer’s eyes widened when he looked up and saw the other closer than he expected. He winced at the pain in his head, reaching out for Julian’s shoulder. The blonde took Toad’s hand and guided it there, letting him rest his weight on it. He held Mortimer’s arm under the elbow and put his other hand on the shorter mutant’s knee. “Headache?” Julian asked quietly. At Mortimer’s nod, the blonde took his hand from the knee and pushed the greasy brown locks away from Mortimer’s face. “Where’s it at?”

Mortimer kept his eyes closed as he tilted his head into the touch. He made a quiet noise when the other rubbed his temple with two fingers.

“That’s a stress headache if I ever saw one,” Julian said. “I’m sorry I put you through all that, but I don’t have another day off for four days, and I thought it might be best to get the shopping done.”

“No,” Mortimer said with a slow shake of his head, “I really appreciate it, I just-“ he sighed and opened his eyes in a squint, looking at the blurry image of the blonde in front of him.

“Shh, you’re alright. You just need some cold water and some rest. Let me get you a glass, and you can drink it and try to take a nap while I figure out what to do with your new clothes, alright?” As Julian tried to get up, Mortimer grabbed his wrist. The blonde let out a startled noise and heat filled the immediate area, but quickly dissipated. Toad gasped and he felt a bit dizzy. Julian shook out of Mortimer’s grip and wrapped an arm around the swaying older man. “Hey,” Julian whispered, “hey, relax. OK?”

“Why are you so nice to me?” Mortimer croaked, leaning heavily on the blonde.

“Because you need it,” Julian said, tucking one of Mortimer’s curls behind his ear. “Now, lay back. I’ll take care of you.”

Mortimer hummed softly in response, resting his head against the couch where the taller man moved him. He wanted more of the petting about his temples, but didn’t dare voice it. Julian and his heat vanished for a bit and he whined.

He did feel a bit better after sipping on a glass of cold water for a few minutes while Julian hummed to himself in his room with the door open. The blonde spoke to himself while he pulled out garments of his own, trying to decide which ones to fond and put in his dresser, and which to donate to a local church. After clearing enough space for Mortimer’s new things, he had a small pile of clothing to donate and moved those to the floor in the living room. He hung Mortimer’s clothes on wire hangers and stood back to look at his work once he was done. Toad felt well enough, his headache having receded to the area of a dull throb – more annoying than painful – and joined Julian in looking at things that he couldn’t quite believe were his.

“Looks good, don’t it?” Julian asked, still keeping his voice quiet. “I try to keep things organized.”

Mortimer hummed in response and gave a brief nod.

“Head still hurting, love?” Julian asked with a slight pout.

“A little. I’m sorry. I should’ve helped,” he muttered.

“No, no, shh, now,” Julian said, shaking his head, smiling almost fondly. “You’re alright. Besides, I like taking care of people,” he trailed off with a noise that was a mix between pained and irritated, “when I can, that is.”

Mortimer looked at the seemingly endless spread of button-downs in Julian’s closet, but something sparkly caught his eye. He leaned in for a closer look to find a sliver of red, sequined fabric peeking out from behind a pair of slacks. His headache returned at that moment, and Mortimer could feel the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkle when he squinted.

“Why don’t you lay down, love?” Julian asked. “All that’s left on the couch is your underoos, ‘cuz I figured you’d want to put those in your backpack. I can move those and you can take a little nap, huh? I’ll wake you up for lunch,” the blonde said, taking Mortimer by the elbow and leading him back to the couch. “Next time we shop, I’ll make sure it’s shorter. I’m sorry, love.”

“Next time,” Mortimer repeated in disbelief.

“Sure,” Julian said with a small smile, helping the brunette sit. “You rest. Lunch’ll take me a bit,” Julian admitted. He moved the underpants he’d purchased for Mortimer on top of his backpack before looking back at the smaller mutant. He’d leaned over against the arm of the couch, already dozing, his right hand curled up by his mouth. His thumbnail was pressed against his lip, pulling slightly at the bottom one. Julian gave a sad little sigh while looking at the older man, his brows pinched together. After observing the rise and fall of Mortimer’s chest for a minute, Julian grabbed the glass the other had been drinking from and took it to his kitchen.

He opened the cabinet and pulled out a bag of flour to begin preparing lunch.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some blood.

_Wanda looked all wrong. Her hair was blonde._

_It was still wavy and held away from her beautiful face with that ridiculous red headpiece, but the color threw everything off. Her now blonde curls bounced about her shoulders in the same way that her dark brown, almost black hair always had as she looked out the window. But it was just wrong for Mortimer. She seemed like a different person – more chipper and carefree, swaying those pink pantyhose clad hips as she walked, looking out of the glass that looked like cellophane. She cast a glance over her shoulder at Mortimer._

_”Don’t you like it?” she asked, flipping her hair as she turned. Long lashes shielded the bright blue of her eyes for a moment as she opened them. Oh, and that look was piercing, a slow batting of her lashes pinning Mortimer in place. “I thought a change was in order,” she spoke softly, though with a paralytic grace and confidence. The air seemed to burn away as she came closer, each calculated, perfectly placed step crushing the breath from his lungs. She raised her dainty hands, taking Toad’s jaw in them._

_Against his cheeks, her fingers felt so strong, so sure, and their heat was almost unbearable. He tried to draw a breath but couldn’t. Not with how close she was, with the way those bright red lips split in a gorgeous smile. She said something, Mortimer thought, but he couldn’t hear it, couldn’t process another thought when she pulled him forward._

_His chest hurt with the heat, but even if he couldn’t draw another breath he’d die a happy man. The love of his life was kissing him. That’s when the window shattered – colorful shards of glass tumbled around them like they were in a kaleidoscope and the inferno outside blew in._

The sound of broken glass woke Mortimer. Before he even opened his eyes he recognized the heat that Julian sometimes gave off, or rather, the heat that he associated with Julian. When he opened his eyes, Toad was greeted with the sight of the blonde on the floor, seemingly haven fallen. Backward. Away from him. One of those strong hands that Mortimer had become so fascinated with were over the bottom half of that boyishly handsome face. The brunette’s eyes widened when he realized what had happened.

“I- I-“ Mortimer started, his voice cracking with the effort to use it so soon after waking up, “I’m so sorry. I was- was dreaming. I didn’t-“

“It’s alright, love,” Julian said, pulling his hand away from his face. His brows were drawn tightly together and he got to one knee to pick up larger pieces of the broken glass. “Don’t-“ he started, his voice cracking too, “Don’t get up. I dropped a glass. Let me sweep this up first.” As the blonde disappeared around the corner to the kitchen to find his broom, Mortimer sat up, curling his legs under himself. Julian swept up the glass as best he could with the water making a mess with glass slivers and dust. He emptied the small dust pan in the trash and returned with a towel to mop up the spill.

“I’m really sorry,” Mortimer muttered, his brows pinched as he watched the blonde scrub at the floor with a dish towel.

“Its fine,” the blonde said, looking up finally. Mortimer’s chest hurt at the effort the blonde was making to keep any negative emotions from his face. The taller man smiled weakly. The expression fell away from his face when he turned his attention back to the floor. “How’s your head?” Julian asked.

“It’s alright,” Mortimer answered, wrapping his arms around one of his knees. Julian looked up and their eyes met for a moment. Mortimer was caught by those baby-blues, and Julian seemed just as entrapped in his gaze. Eventually the blonde sighed and broke their little staring contest. He stood and threw the wet dishcloth at the sink.

He returned to the couch shortly with another glass of water and a plate of something steaming. He handed it off to the brunette, sitting next to him on the sofa. Mortimer recognized the dish – pierogi and sausage – and his mouth watered a little bit. He took a sip from the glass and carefully sat it on the floor. He wanted to dig into the food, but instead let it sitting on his knees.

“Look, love,” Julian said, bumping his knee against Mortimer’s, gently, “I want you to know that I-“ he stopped and swallowed thickly, “I wasn’t disgusted by that, alright? Just,” the blonde paused for a shaky sigh, “surprised,” he finished. After receiving no response for over a minute, he spoke again; “Alright?”

“Y-yeah,” Toad said with the slightest of nods, still looking at, but not touching, his food. He expects Julian to fill the moment with his nervous rambling, but he doesn’t. Silence stretches between the two.

Five agonizingly long minutes pass, filled with only the ticking of the clock on the wall, before either of them speak.

“So,” Julian starts, his arms crossed firmly over his chest, even though he tried to put on a casual look. “Who were you dreaming about?”

“Just someone I used to know,” Mortimer answered, picking up the fork on the plate. He filled his mouth with food so he wouldn’t have to answer whatever question the blonde would throw at him next.

“One of those friends that left you behind?”

Mortimer grunted quietly around a bite of one of the dumplings. He sat the fork with the other half of it on the plate and chewed. Normally he’d be amazed with the flavor, with the younger man’s talent for making at least this dish, but he really did not want to talk about Wanda.

“I’m sorry,” Julian said with a sigh.

“Don’t be,” Mortimer said, popping the other half of the dumpling in his mouth. “These are really good,” he marveled.

“Glad you like them,” Julian said, cracking a small smile that Toad noticed out of the corner of his eye. “Sorry they’re not exactly true to the recipe. It turned out I only had two potatoes left and I had to add something to the filling to be able to fill all of the dumplings. Beans work just as well I figured out a couple years back.”

“It’s a little more,” Mortimer looked for a word that he thought wouldn’t offend the blonde, but couldn’t come up with one, so he made an irritated noise.

“Plain, right?” Julian asked.

“That’s what I was thinking, but I didn’t want to sound rude,” Mortimer admitted sheepishly around a mouthful of potato, bean and a bite of a sausage patty.

“Nah, I’m not easily offended,” Julian said with a soft chuckle. “I actually like plain foods, believe it or not. And you should always tell me if you like what I make or not. I’m a big boy. I can take it. I won’t be mad.”

Much to his surprise, Mortimer could tell the other wasn’t lying. Or, at least, he hoped he could trust his analysis of the other man’s behavior. Admittedly, Toad knew he wasn’t a very good judge of character, if all the events that had occurred in his life told him anything, but the blonde seemed to wear his feelings on his sleeve. That was just fine with Mortimer. He could do with a little honesty. That is, he thought to himself as he shoveled food in his mouth out of embarrassment over his train of thought, if he wouldn’t be kicked out over his stupid actions.

“Why aren’t you eating?” Mortimer asked.

“I tend to nibble while I’m cooking and fill myself up. I’ll eat something more later if I don’t turn in soon, which I’m thinking about doing,” the blonde admitted.

“It’s only six,” Mortimer said after turning his gaze to the clock.

“Well, I do have to be to work at eight, so that means I have to get up at six to catch the first bus,” Julian said with a soft sigh, blowing a few strands of the hair on the left side of his face away. “Yeah, turning in early sounds like a good idea. Finish up and I’ll get us a couple of drinks before bed. I mean,” he quickly caught himself, “you don’t have to go to bed. You can watch the tele, as long as you keep it quiet, and the paper is over there,” he said with a gesture toward the little corner that served as a dining room.

“Thanks,” Mortimer said, finally turning a smile to the other. He felt his face heat at the way the other’s expression lit up, as if a burden had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders.

When Mortimer was finished eating, Julian tried to take his dishes, but he insisted he be allowed to wash them. So he did while Julian put away the leftovers, playfully bumping the shorter man with his hip on his way to the refrigerator. Toad returned to the couch, taking the paper from the small table that served as Julian’s usual eating space, and the blonde followed shortly after. He’d gone to pour two glasses of whatever tobacco-colored drink he’d pulled from the cabinet, but decided to bring the entire bottle along with said glasses. He handed one off to Mortimer, who took it and grinned.

The brunette sat the paper aside, on the arm of the couch, in favor of listening to Julian talk about his friends while he became progressively more inebriated, drinking half of whatever the bottle was.

He talked about flirting with Kitty and how he gotten punched in the face. Not only by her, but by Armando, too. Both had hurt, he’d groused. He talked about how they’d taken pity on him after he’d started crying in front of them, his nose and split lip dripping blood all over the counter, and paid for his drinks that night. He talked about how the four of them, St. John included, had become friends when the two blondes, one effeminate and one just a spindly reporter, had stood up on Armando’s behalf against a rough-looking gang of young men who didn’t take too kindly to him being so handsy with a white woman. Both blondes and Armando had found themselves with some rather unbecoming bruises for the next few weeks, but their combined efforts saved Kitty from having to either out herself as a mutant or use the gun they kept stashed behind the counter. There was another regular who went by Dom that Julian had gotten along with. He’d tried to garner his interest, but the well-built man seemed much more interested in the quiet reporter and politely turned him down.

Mortimer found himself smiling and listening to Julian’s drunken stories with interest, shaking his head at the shenanigans he and his friends got up to. Julian became increasingly friendly with his touching as he consumed more of the drink, and Mortimer turned down an offer for another glass.

“Ya know,” Julian said, throwing his arm around Toad’s shoulders, “I wouldn’t mind trying what happened earlier again when we’re both awake,” he whispered. Mortimer blinked in confusion, but by the time it dawned on him what the other had meant, the blonde was already pulling away. “Well, I’ma head to bed,” he declared. “I’ma start saying shit I shouldn’t if I keep drinkin’ and chattin’,” and he giggled.

Mortimer watched the other walk to the cabinet, slowly so he wouldn’t stumble, and put what was left of the bottle away. He then headed for his room, giving an effeminate wiggle of his fingers before closing the door.

Mortimer had intended to read the paper. Instead he sipped on the rest of the glass and tried to figure out if the blonde’s offer was heartfelt or from the drink.

Julian is gone the next morning before Mortimer wakes, and the brunette has to wonder how that happened. He’s been a light sleeper since Magneto picked him up just under two decades ago. The dangerous lives they led necessitated the ability to go from sleep to action in a split second. As he took in the food and the note and the morning paper on the tiny kitchen table, he realized he was getting comfortable around Julian. In under two days.

That was a habit he’d thought he’d broken himself of after Magneto’s countless betrayals, after Spider-Man’s callous attitude toward him and his misadventures with the Misfits as well as another round of Magneto’s uncaring use.

The note had told him to help himself to whatever he could find for lunch, and again for supper because he wouldn’t be back until late, so he helped himself to a salami and bologna sandwich for lunch. He tidied up as best he could, folding the clothes Julian had cleared from his closet to give to a church. He thought he’d cook dinner for the two of them, and set out looking for ingredients around seven.

Mortimer ate his own food when Julian hadn’t shown up by eight.

He started to grow concerned when the blonde wasn’t home by nine.

He read the paper under the light in the little nook that served for a dining room, growing antsier the closer it got to ten.

At about ten til, the blonde stumbled in, dumping a bag by the couch. He groaned, moving to the kitchen sink, hissing and touching his face. He got himself a glass of water, washing something off of his hand in the process. He produced two large, white pills from seemingly nowhere and downed them with the water. He turned toward the shorter man and tried to smile, grimacing with the motion.

Mortimer gasped.

“Is it that bad?” Julian asked, snorting at the other’s cute little hop as he jumped up. He wiped at his face with his arm while Mortimer grabbed napkins from atop the icebox. “Oh damn it,” Julian said, looking at the smear of blood on his sleeve. “Bastard got me good,” he growled.

“What happened to you?” Mortimer asked, carefully cupping the other’s cheek with one hand, dabbing a moist napkin on Julian’s lip and under his nose with the other.

“Ah, It’s just my shitty luck, mate,” Julian said and winced. Mortimer winced too, thankful the blonde missed it. Julian coughed and quickly pulled back, turning away to cover his mouth and nose with his sleeve. A glob of blood dripped from his nose and he cursed again.

“Come here,” Mortimer said, catching the clot with the napkin. He tossed it in the garbage and got another while Julian took the bottle from the previous night from the cabinet. He took a swig of it as he sat at what passed for a dining room table. He sat the bottle aside and let Mortimer clean his face.

It wasn’t until that moment that Mortimer realized Julian’s hair was down. It was fine and golden and shined in the low light. There was a smear of blood in the hair that usually hung over his scars. Mortimer pushed the hair back out of the blonde’s face and Julian tried to pull away.

“I’ve,” Mortimer started, pulling his hands back a bit too quickly. “I’ve already seen your scars, love,” he said quietly.

Julian huffed, blowing the hair out of his face for a moment before it fell right back into the blood Mortimer was trying to clean from his face. “I suppose you would have, living in such close proximity to me, eh?” Julian’s shoulders slumped and he took another long pull straight from the bottle before relenting himself to Mortimer’s tender care.

“What happened?” the shorter mutant tried again.

“I got caught by an undercover cop,” Julian lamented, “again.”

“There’s bars for that kind of thing, you know,” Mortimer said, once more pushing the curly locks out of his friend’s face. He wanted to study the scars by the other’s eye, but paid more attention to the other’s wounds instead.

“I was at a bar for that kind of thing, ya know,” Julian said, mocking slightly. He sighed. “I’m sorry, love,” he offered. “I’m not mad at-“ he stopped to hiss when Mortimer started prodding at his nose, testing to see if it was broken “-you. I hope you know that,” he said, bringing his clean hand up to the back of Mortimer’s. The shorter mutant felt heat rise to his cheeks and that dizzying, warm sensation was one he was starting to associate with the other.

“I know, love,” Mortimer said, giving a small, worried smile. His expression brightened when Julian smiled back. However, it tore open his lip and a drop of blood welled up in the slit. Mortimer gently patted it away. “There was an undercover cop at a queer bar?”

“Yeah,” Julian answered when he could move his lips again. “There’s been a crackdown lately and it’s getting fucking annoying.” The blonde flinched when Mortimer touched his nose again.

“Hold still,” Mortimer ordered, and Julian drew in a sharp breath. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth, tearing open the cut again, but holding still while Toad felt out the cartilage. “Tell me what happened tonight,” he asked, keeping his voice low and trying to soften it around the edges.

“I was hittin’ it off with a good lookin’ – ouch – guy at the bar, and we were gonna go out for a smoke when-“

“Is that some sort of code?” Mortimer asked, raising a teasing brow.

“It might be, but I actually did just want a cigarette. I mean, I was probably gonna fuck him, but still, not in a fucking alley. That’s gross,” Julian said with a pout. “I guess he took it as that and threw me inta the wall, face first. When I realized he was gonna cuff me, I tried to flicker, but I was too drunk, I guess, so I kicked him in the stones.

“Well, apparently he’s one of those guys who wears a guard down there or is enranged instead’a disabled when someone hits ‘em inna bullocks, so he threw me to the ground and climbed on top of me and started hitting me in the face. Eh, to make a long story short, I spit in his eye and shoved him offa me ‘n’ ran back into the bar to grab my stuff, change and get the fuck outta there.” Julian nodded when he was finished with his story.

“Wow,” Mortimer breathed. “Well, at least your nose isn’t broken,” he said with a sigh. He dabbed Julian’s lips one last time before throwing the napkin away. “Maybe next time you should take me with you. I’ll make sure you don’t get too drunk, and stop a guy if he gets too rough with ya.,” the brunette offered. He put his hands on his hips, looking down at the other.

“I’d hug you, but I don’t wanna ruin your new clothes,” Julian said with a sad smile. “I don’t want you to be exposed to that kind of danger, love.”

Mortimer couldn’t help but snort in response. “I‘ve been through worse than a few bar fights,” Mortimer assured the blonde.

“Like what?” Julian asked, and the tilt of his head coupled with the swelling of his lip put a nick in the wall Toad had built around his heart. He wanted to keep those things locked inside, had decided those things would die with him a few days ago.

But the walls were flimsier than he thought, and he opened his mouth to tell a story.


	5. Chapter 5

Mortimer started with what he thought would be a simple story, but shocking enough to convince the other that he could handle himself. He recounted a tale of a time he’d been shot.

Once the words started tumbling out, Mortimer found that he couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t even stem the flow as he poured out years of frustration at Magneto’s betrayal in particular. He surprised even himself at his bitterness toward the man as he explained that he’d been left for dead. Explained how he would have died had his healing factor not chosen that moment to make itself known, how he went back to Magneto anyway. How the bullet had been pushed out of his chest over the span of three days. Three agonizingly long days of which two were spent searching for the older man who’d already moved on.

Julian listened patiently, his swollen lips parted slightly as he held his hands in front of himself awkwardly, unsure of what to do with them. In truth, he itched to draw the older man into his arms, but the brunette was still gritting his teeth between words, flailing his arms as he told his tale.

“I’m sorry,” Toad muttered, his shoulders slumping as the anger fled from his frame. Tears welled in his eyes and his arms hung limply at his sides. “I shouldn’t ‘ave gone off like that,” he whispered, turning away. His accent was thick with the effort of choking back sobs that bubbled up out of seemingly nowhere. He’d thought all his life that all he ever wanted was someone to listen to him, but as he watched the figurative waters gush forth from the broken dam he felt foolish. He felt guilty.

The night should have been about Julian, he thought. Julian who’d come home with a busted lips and bloody nose, but instead he’d made the moment about him, and he hated himself for that. Tears ran down his cheeks anew while he was lost in his self-loathing, He knew deep down that Magneto was at least partially to blame for his current state, and he said as much. But he also voiced, sorrowfully in a wail, that he couldn’t entirely blame the man for his own regrets, his terroristic actions. He’d made the choice to do those things, after all.

Julian stood while the older man had his back to him, wincing at a pain he wasn’t aware he’d had, but ignored it in favor of unbuttoning his shirt. He stripped off his soiled shirt and checked his undershirt for blood. Finding nothing, he pat down his own face with the dirty shirt, taking away any tears or blood that had welled up during Mortimer’s tale.

When the other had been quiet for a moment, save for his weak sobs, Julian chanced a quiet “…Mortimer?”

“Ah’m sorry,” the brunette answered, surprised that the taller man used his actual name rather than a pet name. He wiped at his face with balled fists until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned watery eyes toward the blonde, trying to hide his face with his shoulder, but the firm hand moved him to face the blonde.

“Hush now,” Julian said, lifting his button-down and finding a clean spot on it to wipe away the shorter man’s tears. “I told you that you don’t need to apologize, didn’t I?” he asked with a sad smile.

“You don’t need to be dealing with me,” the brunette groused, but reached out for the other anyway.

“I’ll decide what I need to be dealing with, thank you,” the taller man said, wrapping his arms around Toad’s shoulders, one hand carding in light brown locks.

Mortimer splayed his fingers on the younger man’s hips, gripping tightly and holding him close. He leaned forward, resting his head on the cotton-clad chest before him. The shorter man found himself a bit unsettled at just how right, how good it felt to have his hands around that slender waist. His mouth felt dry and his tongue heavy. He wanted to lift his head and say something to Julian, try to explain the feelings he was having. The loneliness, gut-gnawing terror of having no one wondering where he was, and how Julian just keeping him around was starting to erode at those feelings and filling him with an all new fear.

The bulk of the feeling was nothing new. Mortimer had always feared rejection, which was why he’d never openly, actively pursued Wanda. He had dropped big, impossible to miss hints, but he’d never asked because a “no” would have killed him. It wasn’t the thought that Julian might reject him that had his heart pounding in his throat, but rather that his sexuality had only recently come into question with his fascination with and desire to please the blonde. That led him to believe that the other would call his queerness into question and reject him based on his uncertainty about who he was. Which was of course rejection, but in the face of questioning himself, he wasn’t sure he could handle it if the first man he’d found himself attracted to were to spurn him.

“I-“ Mortimer started, his meaty hands sliding under Julian’s undershirt. He swallowed thickly as he rubbed his fingers back and forth over the skin of his sides, then around to his back. The blonde tensed, pulling back, but only slightly. One of those big hands cupped the back of Mortimer’s head, the other rested on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Julian said, playing with the collar of Mortimer’s shirt with his thumb. “I get a little, uh, twitchy when my back is touched.”

“Why?” Mortimer asked. He wanted the other to talk, say something he’d have to focus on to pull him out of his own head. Wanted something to distract him his desires to feel more of the taut skin.

“Mnh,” Julian grunted, looking pained after wrinkling his nose. “Just, ya know, scars.”

“From what?” Mortimer asked, fingers tightening their grip, pressing harder into the soft skin.

“It’s a long story, love,” Julian said, untangling his fingers from Mortimer’s hair. “I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he offered, licking his lower lip. “But I’m exhausted,” he muttered. He gave the shorter man an apologetic look. “I have to be at work in less than seven hours, and I need to try to get some sleep if I can.”

Mortimer’s eyes widened, and he turned to look at the clock. His jaw fell when he saw the time. It was just after one.

“I’m so sorry!” he blurted, pulling away from the blonde. He brought his hands to his chest, curling them into fists, looking for all the world like a chastised child.

“Oh, hush,” Julian said, pushing his own hair back out of his face. He made an irritated noise when his fingers caught in it. “I told you that if you ever wanted to talk, that I would be here. I mean it, love,” he insisted, reaching out to loosely curl his fingers around the shorter man’s elbow.

The two stood there for a moment, the older man feeling like he did the first night – inexplicably drawn toward the blonde with a desire to kiss him.

“I’m going to go clean up,” Julian said, keeping his hand on Mortimer’s elbow. Instead of letting go, his grip tightened. Mortimer drew in a sharp breath. “Are you going to be alright? I can stay up with you a bit longer, if you’d like.” Julian offered.

Mortimer gaped for a moment, then shut his mouth. He opened it again with a wet pop. He licked his lips and shook his head. “I’m- I’m alright,” he said, his face growing pink. “I won’t keep you up any longer.” The span of a few heartbeats passed before he added “thank you.”

“I mean it,” Julian said, pulling Mortimer forward a step by the grip on his elbow. There was a fluttering sensation in his belly at the rough, yet protective grip. “If there’s more you want to say after I get out of th’ bath, I’ll sit with you and listen.”

“N-no,” Mortimer said with a small shake of his head. “I’ll be alright. Thank you.”

Julian gave a small smile and released Mortimer’s arm. He stepped in close and Mortimer froze up, his nose burning with a blush when the blonde kissed his temple. He watched the taller man walk toward the bathroom, studying his backside. He felt the heat all the way to his ears and moved his eyes up, catching a glimpse of some scarring along the back of the other’s left arm. The pale flesh, which became lightly tanned at the elbow and grew darker toward his hand to a healthy sun-kissed peach, was littered with circular and ovular scars. White and pink with hints of black and red, the scars were raised from the skin and seemed to cluster on the side nearest his shoulder blade, few moving higher or lower. Before he could get a better look, before he could figure out what the scars were from, Julian closed the thin wooden door behind him.

Mortimer couldn’t sleep that night, his mind reeling. He wanted more contact with the blonde, wanted to figure himself out. He wound up having to adjust himself in his briefs, his cock somewhat interested in his musings about the taller man. The feelings persisted in cycles of confusion, desire, elation, regret and self-hatred, his length pushing against the front of his pants. He tried to read the paper, to forget all of it for a while and focus on the rest of the world’s problems, but his erection was insistent. It was spurred on by an interest piece on homosexuals. It detailed a creeping homophile pervert spying on men in bathrooms and rubbing up against young men in dark theatres and putting himself in the victims place, imagining Julian in place of the pervert, had him gasping. He shut the paper and slammed it down on the table. He turned the paper over to get the story further away from him. He stared at the offending stack of paper for a moment before pushing it away. One end of it crinkled against the wall and he stood.

He decided to take care of his problem in the bath.

He felt immense guilt for his thoughts. For Julian, for Wanda, for other attractive women. After he dried from his bath, he could swear he felt sister Catherine’s yardstick on his knuckles, so he scrubbed out the tub. Then the toilet and sink, and kitchen sink, and he marveled at how modern if not small, Julian’s apartment was. He wondered how much it cost a month.

He sat on the couch for a while, leaving on the light in the corner that served for a dining room. Once he realized sleep wasn’t coming, he started breakfast. It was cold by the time Julian wandered out at five, his eyes sunken in and heavy-lidded, but the blonde just smiled and thanked him. He threw the plate in the Range and turned the dial to reheat the food.

“That’s brand new, isn’t it?” Mortimer asked, gesturing toward the microwave.

“It is. Sears had a sale a couple months ago, and well, I spent almost my entire paycheck on it,” Julian said, looking a bit embarrassed. “It was a hundred and forty dollars,” he said, running his fingers over the smooth metal fondly. “I only had ten bucks left to drink at Kitty’s place, but it was worth it. No food goes bad anymore because I don’t want to go through the effort of reheating it.”

Mortimer studied the other’s face as he spoke. The swelling in his lip had gone down, but his nose and eye were still a bit puffy and the bruises looked a lot angrier than they did the previous night. Mortimer was probably standing a bit too close to the blonde for the average person’s comfort, but the blonde didn’t seem to mind. He ate eggs and fried ham and smiled brightly despite how tired he looked, the cut on his lip standing out in stark contrast to the rest of the pale lip.

When he was finished, he put the plate in the sink and put an arm around the smaller man. He drew him in close and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, rubbing his cheek in the clean, dry locks. Mortimer raised his hand to Julian’s arm, fingers trailing up the soft, lightly furred skin. The other shivered and drew away, dragging his fingers through the shorter man’s hair before disengaging himself entirely. Mortimer wanted to push into the touch, to press himself against the lean body that was pulling away, but resisted.

“I’ll be home at five if I don’t have to do the truck today,” Julian said, grabbing a windbreaker from a short stack of jackets thrown on a small table by the door.

“If you do?” Mortimer asked, rolling his sleeves up to get ready to wash the dishes from breakfast. Julian groaned at the thought.

“Seven or so. Maybe I should pick up some duck or something on the way home. Do you like duck?”

“I do,” Mortimer answered, tucking his chin toward his chest when he smiled.

“Then I guess I’ll have to pick up some duck,” Julian said, lighting a cigarette.

While Julian was at work, Mortimer watched television, made himself lunch, and eventually checked the paper for job offers. He pointedly avoided the human interest section. Throughout the day he picked up the paper and poured over the work available again, and it helped to calm him down. While the thought of having a nine-to-five and dealing with normal people made Mortimer uneasy, the idea of stability and having his own money made him feel giddy.

When he went into Julian’s room to grab a change of clothes, he remembered the red fabric. Moving the other’s hung slacks aside, he found nothing even remotely red and certainly nothing sequined. He was about to put what he thought he saw up to the headache he’d had when his fingers brushed a fabric that, while the same black as the pair of slacks he’d just pushed aside, was of an entirely different texture.

When Toad pulled it out, his face prickled with the speed of blood rushing to it. He held the black, silk slip an arm’s length away, looking the garment up and down. It looked a bit large for the average woman he ran into on the streets, but he did recall Julian saying he preferred his women sturdy. Mortimer found himself growing jealous, feeling hatred toward a woman he didn’t know for leaving her clothing in his Julian’s closet. The sound of the simple mailbox outside the apartment snapping shut made the mutant drop the hanger. He scrambled to pick it up and shoved it back where he thought he belonged, unfolding one of the closet doors and closing it.

He went to the front door and peered out. He checked the mailbox and took in Julian’s mail, his heart still in his throat.

He sat on the couch with a heavy sigh and let his head rest against the soft backing. After a while, he drifted off.

He woke some time later to the door opening. Mortimer’s eyes blinked open, seeing the blonde through his own hair that had fallen over his eyes at some point in his, thankfully dreamless, slumber. The blonde had a paper bag slung over his wrist by its strings, and pulled the door closed. Toad sat up and returned the gesture when Julian smiled. The taller man dropped the bag at his feet and shucked his windbreaker. He retrieved forks from a drawer in the kitchen and passed them off to Mortimer on the way to his room.

He returned a few minutes later, dressed rather lazily compared to his usual. Julian didn’t bother to tuck in his shirt, button it all the way up or even wear an undershirt. The sparse short, blonde curls between the younger man’s pecs drew Mortimer’s attention, but he forced himself to look away, to unbox their food. Julian reached behind them to on the boxy radio, having to adjust the dials before something slow and soft played quietly.

“I’m so tired,” Julian said, “I almost don’t want to eat, but duck from this place is a rare treat.” He tucked into his food, stuffing his face in an almost comedic manner. Mortimer couldn’t help but snort. They ate in silence for several minutes. “How are you, love?” Julian asked around a mouthful. “How was your day?”

“It was alright,” he said, watching Julian set his half-eaten food aside. “How was wor~k?” Mortimer asked, his voice cracking when Julian flopped back on the couch, resting his head on the older man’s thigh.

“Exhausting,” the blonde moaned. “They wouldn’t put me on cash today because my face is busted up, then I had to stay for the truck.”

“I’m sorry,” Mortimer said, setting his food aside.

“It’s not your fault,” Julian said, smiling up at Mortimer. “I’m just glad I have someone to listen to me complain.” When Julian turned his head up, exposing his throat and a small cut from the last time he’d shaved, Mortimer couldn’t resist touching. Julian stilled as the other man’s blunt fingers felt out his neck, his lips parting as Mortimer rubbed over his Adam’s apple and down into the hollow of his throat. A quiet, breathy, barely audible noise escaped the younger man as warm digits traced his collarbone. Mortimer could feel Julian swallow against his arm as he moved down, fingers scratching through the almost nonexistent chest hair. “Love,” the blonde rasped, “what are you doing?”

Mortimer froze.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's the barest hint of dub-con in this chapter if you squint.

“I’m- I’m so sorry!” Mortimer gasped. “I- I was thinking and I wasn’t thinking, uh, about what I was doing- I-“ Julian grabbed Mortimer’s hand before he could pull it away.

“You’re alright, love,” the blonde said, holding Toad’s hand to his chest. “It’s a little weird, but,” the prone man trailed off, rubbing the pads of his fingers over Mortimer’s knuckles, “it doesn’t bother me.”

When Julian started to feel the pleats between the tubby fingers, when the taller man started feeling up what might be webbing, Mortimer slithered his hand out from under Julian’s touch. Julian curiously watched the hand as best he could while it moved up to his face and started to push back the swatch of hair that covered his scars. The blonde tried not to flinch, but failed and gave an apologetic smile.

“Y-you told me yesterd’y that you’d tell me how you got these,” Mortimer said, running his thumb over one of three circular scars. The skin looked raised, dramatically so, but it felt smooth to the touch.

“I did, didn’t I?” the younger man asked with a sigh. He huffed and turned on his side, facing away from Mortimer, but still resting his head on his leg. “It was about ten years ago, uhn, give or take a few months” he started, drawing his arms up around himself.

“I was in Germany and, there was- there were a group of people who I was hanging out with – mutants. We were drinking together at one of their places, at – his name was Angelo. He had a lot of extra skin. Made a killing at the carnival.” Julian gave a quiet laugh, trailing off in a regretful hum. “I guess that’s not important.

“Anyway, the police broke down the door. Or, not the police. They weren’t police. They were leftovers from the war in uniforms that looked almost like the law. There were a lot of them. They took us to a lab-like place. Maybe more like an asylum. Yeah, like an asylum, but with one big room with six metal tables that had straps, and microscopes and a computer and other machines that I don’t know what they are.

“Well, I guess none of that is really important. But, uh, they put a collar on me that kept me from flickering, and the guy that was in charge of me smoked. He liked to put his cigarettes, his cigars out on me.” Julian huffed. “They’re all cigar and cigarette burns,” Julian reiterated, staring at the leg of the desk that held his TV.

“I’m so sorry,” Mortimer said, giving the blonde’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Don’t be,”Julian said, pulling at his hair to move it back in place over his scars. “It was a long time ago. I’m far away from it now.”

“You’ve uh, you’ve mentioned this flicker thing a few times now. What is that?”

“Oh,” Julian said, his eyes widening. The sad, distant look vanished from his face and he rolled back onto his back to look up at Mortimer. “I never showed you, did I?”

“No,” Mortimer said with a short lived shake of his head.

“Well, let me show you,” Julian said, jumping to his feet.

“Exhausted, huh?” Toad teased, taking the taller man’s hand when it was offered to him. He let out a surprised squeak when the other pulled him up and to him, pulled him with such a force that Mortimer had to brace himself on the other’s chest with a free hand.

“I get excited when I get to show off, and I don’t get to show this off very often.”

Mortimer found himself disappointed at the lack of contact when the blonde pulled away. The taller man found his loafers and slipped his feet into them. He threw on his windbreaker.

“C’mon, love,” Julian said, “get on your coat. We have to go outside for this.”

After staring after the excited blonde for a moment, Toad snapped out of his confusion and grabbed his trench coat from where it had been laid on the back of the couch. He slipped it on and followed the other out of the apartment and down the stairs. They slipped into the alley between Julian’s building and the next, and the brunette started to feel giddy. He felt like he was about to do something naughty, though he had no clue what they were about to do.

In the alley, they stood between a stack of boxes and a garbage can. Julian pulled the brunette close again, and looked out over the garbage can to make sure that no one could see them. It wouldn’t be likely that anyone could in the low light anyway, but he had to check. Mortimer panted quietly, his mouth open. He felt like the young, innocent victim of the homophile pervert pulled into the alley for the other’s use and it excited him. When Julian grinned down at him, he shuddered.

“Ready?” the blonde asked, licking his lips.

“Yeah,” Mortimer answered breathlessly.

“It’s gonna be really warm for a tick, just to warn ya,” Julian said, his voice low and rough.

Mortimer couldn’t imagine being any hotter than he was in that moment, but he nodded anyway. Julian took a rough hold of his shoulders and suddenly the entire world was ripped out from under his feet. He didn’t have a chance to reach out and steady himself on the blonde, fire roaring up around them in all directions. It was loud, hot and lasted less than a second. If not for the residual heat on his shirt buttons when he pressed his hand to them, thankful to feel his feet on solid ground once more, he would’ve thought he’d imagined the inferno.

“Y’alright?” Julian asked, taking one of Mortimer’s biceps when he worried the older man might fall over.

“Yeah, I’m- fuck, mate,” Mortimer said when he looked up. He spun around and looked all around them, his eyes nearly bulging from their sockets. “Where are we?” he asked, taking in the trees.

There were no buildings in sight. Even if there had been a building nearby, the throngs of massive, healthy, beautifully green, mossy trees would have blocked them from their view. Sun filtered down from above, bright and warm through the leaves. The trees’ branches fanned out, some long and drooping low toward the ground, others’ arching up toward the sky in short, sharp bursts. A deer that wasn’t quite a deer studied them from a distance. The creature had a snubbed nose and fuzzy antlers, and it and Mortimer stared at each other in equal amounts of surprise. It was several meters away but still was an imposing figure, standing far taller than either of the men, with it’s front not-quite-hooves which looked more like stubby fingers that had been blackened and hardened in a perpetual clawing motion. Large black eyes narrowed slightly before the creature turned and ran off. Mortimer breathed an amazed sigh of relief.

“Where are we?” he asked in slack-jawed wonder.

“Same place we were a minute ago,” Julian answered, the sly grin on his split pink lips going unnoticed, “just, oh, about seven-thousand years ago.”

Mortimer spun on his heel, the grass screeching under his shoe. He stared up at Julian.

“You-wot-mate?” he asked, as if it were all one word. Julian’s grin spread. “So you’re- you’re a mutant, too?” He wanted to add a question of if the man were an angel or a demon instead, but omitted that thought.

“Yeah, and you’re one of only six people alive who know,” Julian answered. He looked down for a moment, but his mood picked back up as he watched various versions of wonderment possess the shorter man’s features.

“And you travel through time?”

“In a way, yeah,” Julian answered, quickly grabbing Mortimer about the elbows when it looked like the older man’s knees would give out. Mortimer braced himself on the blonde’s biceps and continued to stare up at him. “I don’t have a lot of control over it,” Julian admitted. “Like,” he said, struggling to find the words to describe it, “it’s really hard to go to a specific time. It’s more of a- well, in the span of a heartbeat I have to determine factors about the place I’ll be going to. Like, that there’s breathable air and nothing that will lob my head off the moment I get there. Then I can choose if I want to, say, go somewhere contradictory to my childhood teachings, like right now. It’s really hard to be precise.”

“Goes against your childhood teachings?” Mortimer asked, getting his land legs back. He didn’t let go of the other’s biceps, but stood up straight.

Julian snorted softly.

“I was raised catholic, so,” he said, “I wanted to see if I could meet god. I wound up here after going further and further back. I’m not even really sure we’re seven-thousand years back. Could be a lot more, could be a little less, but,” he trailed off for a moment, “it’s not quite the garden of Eden I imagined.”

“You believe in that?”

Julian only shrugged in response.

“It doesn’t particularly matter to me. I know that, as long as I’m a decent person, some god will have me.” Julian took one hand away from the other to nervously scratch his ear. “Most people think Hell’s an actual place and I’m going there, so I dunno,” he said with a shrug. “Some days it feels like I’m already there, then I remember I can do this, I can go anywhere.

“I’ve even been to other worlds. Worlds like ours, but very, very different. In fact, I once went to one where same-sex love was the only type of romantic love recognized, and having children was done with your closest friends.” Julian gave a snort at the other’s perplexed expression.

“Why didn’t you stay there?” Mortimer asked.

“I physically can’t,” Julian said with a shrug, as if that explained it.

“Why not?” Mortimer asked, clutching Julian’s jacket as a bird took flight nearby, rustling some leaves.

“I get sick if I stay in other worlds or times or whatever for more than a few hours. Plus, if I fall asleep, I wake up back in our world, so, I just can’t. We should probably go home. You’ll get sick if we stay here too long.” Before Mortimer could protest, the searing heat returned.

Once more in the alley, Mortimer felt silly. He let go of Julian and twiddled his thumbs while looking at the ground between them.

“Aren’t you afraid you’re going to change something by going back in time?” Mortimer asked, following Julian by watching his feet. He’d never felt quite so hot and he’d been through fires. Heat lingered on his buttons and in his groin.

“No, because stuff disintegrates after being out of its natural world for a while.” That seemed to be the end of that when Julian let Mortimer in, holding the door open for him. Both kicked off their shoes and stacked their coats with Julian’s others.

Toad watched Julian stretch and noticed how one of his shirt’s buttons had come open at some point in their adventure. The cloth was only held closed by two buttons and Mortimer wanted to open the remaining two. The thought of ripping the shirt open and hearing the buttons hit the floor was an exciting one. He braced himself with one hand on the door when the blonde turned tired, lidded eyes at him.

“You alright?” Julian asked, moving closer. Mortimer stiffened, standing up a little taller. “Hun?”

When the blonde was within arm’s reach, Mortimer’s hand shot out, too fast for Julian to counter and grabbed him by the elbow. He pulled the other close with that hand, the other feeling up the soft hairs in the middle of the broad, leanly muscled chest. Julian gasped, bringing his hands up to brace himself with his palms on the door on either side of Mortimer’s head. He gasped again when stubby fingers found their way to his breast, feeling the thin layer of baby-fat over the muscle reverently. Julian let out a breathy “ah” when the rough pad of a thumb found his nipple.

“Stop,” Julian rasped, but Mortimer couldn’t hear it over the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears.

The brunette moved the hand that wasn’t occupied with the exploration of another’s chest to the taller man’s hair, threading his fingers in it. He cupped the back of Julian’s head, his the tips of his fingers digging in as he pulled Julian down for a kiss. The blonde acquiesced to the lip-lock for a moment, moaning into the too-moist, too-wide mouth under his. Julian’s palm made a squeaking noise as it slipped down the door, a soft ‘fwump’ echoing in their ears as the hand came down on Mortimer’s shoulder.

The brunette gasped, lips smacking wetly when the hand that had previously been ono his shoulder found his neck and pressed lightly. Julian dug his thumb into Mortimer’s Adam’s apple, his long fingers wrapping around the side of his neck. “Stop,” the blonde growled against Mortimer’s lips. The brunette let his head fall back against the door, exposing his throat to the younger man. “Fuck,” Julian hissed, pressing a kiss just under the shorter mutant’s chin before pulling back, keeping Mortimer pinned to the door by the grip on his neck.

“I’m sorry,” Toad whispered, his voice deeper with the pressure on his throat, his eyes blown wide. Julian relaxed his thumb, letting it come to rest on the other side of his neck, his hand splayed over the brunette’s throat. The blonde took a few deep breaths. “Please don’t be upset with me, I’ll never do it again. I’m so sorry.”

“That’s not it,” Julian said with a shake of his head. “I’m interested. I just want you to stop and think about it first.”

“Wot?” Mortimer asked, bringing his head down to meet Julian’s eyes. Julian shivered when he felt Mortimer swallow under his palm.

“If,” Julian started, but stopped to lick his lips, “if you like both, I suggest you stick to women. It’s just easier that way, love.

“If it’s just a passing fancy, we can fuck and go back to our regular behavior. But, if you want some sort of relationship, you’re going to have to move out. I live too close to other people to have a live-in male lover. There’s a lot to talk about, so we both need to calm the hell down and fuckin’ tawlk,” Julian said, his accent thick in his desire, his effort to keep himself from attacking Mortimer with his mouth.

“You’re not mad?” Mortimer asked, his hand going to his throat as Julian pulled away, his hand falling away as he put some distance between them.

“I’m a little mad that I couldn’t tell that you were queer, but I’ve never been a very good judge of that,” the blonde offered with a snort.

“But I tried to kiss you that first night,” Mortimer said, a brow raising.

“Yeah, and I figured you were doing that because you needed a place to stay and thought I was going to want money or something you didn’t have.”

Mortimer grunted in acknowledgement, wanting to adjust himself in his slacks, wishing that he were either a little longer or a that his belly were a little bigger so he could turn it up in his waist band or his belly would hide his erection naturally. He shifted about, trying to calm himself. Julian noticed.

“You’re alright, love,” he said with a shake of his head. “It happens,” he said with a dirty chuckle, looking down at himself. After a moment of silence, the blonde uttered “well, this is awkward.” Mortimer couldn’t help but agree. “I think we should get some sleep. Pretend this didn’t happen until my next day off, alright? Then we can talk, maybe get a little close if you can be quiet, and see what happens. Sound like a plan?”

“Uh, yeah,” Mortimer answered, dumbfounded.

“Right, well. Good, uh,” Julian said, running his fingers through his hair. He licked his lips and tasted blood. “I’m going to go bathe and get ready for bed,” he mumbled with an awkward cough and a reddening of his cheeks.

The sudden shift in Julian’s personality was a bit concerning, but Mortimer could understand the younger man’s concerns. If his neighbors suspected him of being queer, he’d probably be run out of the place in the best case scenario. The brunette didn’t want to think about the worst case, but he had a feeling he’d have to.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t escaped from far worse than handcuffs, and traveling the different worlds with the blonde sounded like a wonderful idea. But, he conceded to the other side of his conscience, Julian was already established in this place with a well-paying job if he could afford a microwave on one paycheck, so he probably wouldn’t want to leave that.

Mortimer sighed, looking over at the thin bathroom door. He could hear the water running and Julian sighing, and imagined the blonde standing under the gentle spray, playing with himself. He shivered as he quickly changed his button down for a loose-fitting undershirt and dropped his slacks on the floor. The brunette grabbed the blanket he’d been using off the arm of the couch where he’d folded and left it. He pulled it over himself and tried to maintain his will, to not pleasure himself to the quiet sounds coming from the bathroom.


	7. Chapter 7

Mortimer lay awake, his erection finally flagging.

It had taken long enough, and Julian breezing by in only his open shirt, his hair wrapped up in a towel, holding his other clothing in front of him. Through squinted eyes, attempting to look as though he were asleep, Mortimer had gotten a glimpse of a shapely rear, lightly furred with the same nearly invisible blonde peach fuzz the man had everywhere else. The man had long legs. Muscular, though nowhere near as dense and thickly corded as Toad’s own.

The brunette closed his eyes against the thoughts of exploring more of the other and attempted to get comfortable on the sofa. He tried to imagine the apartment’s layout from above. He pictured the couch he was laying on, how it was tucked into one corner with only a little coffee table keeping it from touching two walls. There was a little nook behind and above the couch that was probably supposed to have been a window, had it not faced the thin hall that led to other apartments and the stairs. Julian kept a boxy radio there, along with whatever dishes and utensils he felt like setting aside instead of washing, wooden and shaped like a birdhouse.

If there’d been light, he’d have been able to see what served as Julian’s dining room. It was really just a table and a couple of chairs shoved into the opposite corner. Between that corner and the one he was occupying sat a small table that Julian used for coats. If the door was pushed back too far it would bang against the coat table.

The door to the bathroom was between the dining room and the kitchen, and it seemed oddly placed to Mortimer. He knew there was a pantry that took up some of the space that would be unused by the placement of the bathroom on the other side of the appliances in the kitchen, but the awkwardly placed bathroom left a little alcove in the hallway outside that made the brunette feel a little paranoid that strangers were listening to him when he showered. That thought absolutely did not make him shiver, did not make gooseflesh rise on his arms. He absolutely refused to believe that the idea of Julian watching him from the hallway, from a conveniently placed hole only big enough to steal a peek through, gave him delightful chills.

He huffed out a sigh, realizing that, if his past experiences were anything to go by, no one would find him attractive enough to spy on. If they did, he thought, it would only be out of morbid curiosity. Was that why Julian was supposedly interested, he wondered, morbid curiosity? Could he handle that, a quick fuck to settle their respective curiosities? A muscle fluttered in his cheek as he clenched his jaw and went back to thinking about the layout of the one bedroom space.

The bathroom reminded him vaguely of Japan. Or, rather, of a place he’d stayed with Magneto and Sabretooth when they’d gone on some sort of business-related trip. He remembered being surprised with how well the feral mutant had just- just blended in. Which was strange because he was blonde and stood a good fifteen centimeters taller than the next tallest man they’d run up against. He’d clearly had experience in the land and the culture. But that was no longer important.

This door also banged against something if opened too wide, the icebox. The refrigerator was rounded and looked like it belonged in the back of a diner rather than a tiny apartment. The stove looked tiny placed next to the monstrous refrigerator, but it too was modern and rounded. Mortimer had discovered that it had a footbath when he was looking for pans to make Julian breakfast. Laying on the couch, Mortimer could imagine Julian using it, his pants rolled up to his knees, his hair pulled up in a high ponytail, curled even more than it usually was in an feminine style. He imagined the tantalizing bit of skin Julian’s half-open shirt would expose, the blonde smiling at him as he came in the door.

Mortimer snorted at the absurdity of the thought. Julian wasn’t all that feminine, and he was strong. Ish, at least. Mortimer had felt it when the taller man had held him to the door by his neck. The blonde did have some effeminate mannerisms, but Mortimer admonished himself for comparing the younger man to a woman.

The sink was fairly average, but a brand new microwave sat to its left, an electric percolator to its right. Farther off to the right, past the counter space, past the rack of various cooking implements and towels, was the door to a small pantry. This was stocked with dry beans and rice and backup bags of flour that weren’t kept in the main cabinet above the sink.

There were a couple of movie posters in the place, one on the door to Julian’s bedroom and one on the little spot of wall that blocked Mortimer’s view of the kitchen from where he lay. There was a clock on the wall next to the bathroom door. A desk with four drawers held a classy, modern television and a small stack of books and sat in the middle of the apartment, the TV aligned with the couch cushion closest to the door. The one drawer Mortimer had managed to stir up the courage to open was more than half full of newspapers, neatly folded and stacked.

Julian’s room was rather plain compared to the rest of the rather trendy place. It held only a bed topped with a plush comforter and several pillows and a bedside stand with a lamp, an ashtray and a round, brass alarm clock. There was a large closet with two folding doors stuffed full of clothes, and thinking of the closet reminded Mortimer of the slip. He flushed, feeling hot under the blanket even though he was wearing so little.

Having to get up and move, he threw the blanket back. He stood and stretched his back, raising his arms above his head. He ran his fingers through his hair, loving the way it felt after using Julian’s fancy products. He wanted to touch blonde locks more, and tightened his fingers in his own hair. Gave a whimper as he tugged on it.

Mortimer padded quietly to Julian’s door, noting that the man had left it cracked. He peeked in, but was met with darkness. His eyes had adjusted to the light long ago, but it seemed darker in the younger man’s room.

“Julian,” he tried, hating the sound of his voice. Raspy, in a harsh whisper. The ball of blankets and pillows on the bed gave a sleepy questioning hum in response, its pitch rising at the end, indicative of his Welsh accent and speech pattern. “Can I-“ Toad started, stopping to lick his lips, “I know you said you wanted to wait until your next day off, but- Can I, um, can I lay with you for a bit?”

“You wot?” Julian asked, throwing the covers back from where they’d been over his head. He half sat up and, though Mortimer couldn’t see, he imagined Julian looking in his direction with a half-lidded glare, hair mussed.

“I can’t sleep. No funny business, I swear. I said I wouldn’t do it again,” Mortimer muttered, his toes curling. “So I won’t. I just- I just wanna be close to another person for a bit.”

Julian sighed heavily, and Mortimer head him flop back down to the bed.

“Fine, then,” the younger man answered, and shuffled around, holding open the blankets.

Mortimer’s face lit up a bright red, all the way to his ears, as he hurriedly climbed into the bed. Julian sighed into brown locks as he pulled the blanket back up over their heads. It was a little too hot, a bit hard to breathe under the blanket, but when Julian wrapped one of those lightly furred arms around his shoulders Mortimer gave a delighted shiver. The shorter man curled up against Julian, his knees bumping the other’s thighs. When Julian lifted his knee to let Mortimer get comfortable, to let the meaty thigh slide between his to rest there, he stiffened. The brunette started to pull his leg back, but Julian hooked his around it, locking his knee behind the other’s.

“Are you wearing pants?” Julian asked.

“Well, no,” Mortimer said, “I didn’t want to sleep in my slacks and wrinkle them.”

Julian groaned and took his head from Mortimer’s hair and rested it back on his stack of pillows.

“I’m sorry,” Mortimer muttered, pressing his hands and one cheek to Julian’s chest. He’d hoped to find bare, fuzzy skin, but was instead met with the delicate buttons of a soft nightshirt.

“No,” Julian started, giving Mortimer’s shoulder a squeeze. “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to behave with you doing this, with you coming in here all sweet and wide eyed, never been with a man and not wearing any pants,” he husked, one strong hand wandering down to grip Mortimer’s thickly muscled thigh. He hiked it up over his hip, giving it a soothing squeeze, a near-rough rub when Mortimer whimpered. “I don’t know how you can expect me not to touch when you’re not resisting at all.”

“Maybe I’m not resisting because I want to be touched,” the thicker man breathed, taking Julian’s hand, pressing his fingers harder into his flesh. “No one’s ever wanted to touch me b’fore,” Mortimer breathed, moving his other hand up, stretching out his arm so he could wrap it around Julian’s neck, so the other could rest his head on the meaty bicep. “I’ve wanted to be this close to someone for so long, Julian.” The breathless, needy quality of the older man’s voice made the blonde shiver.

“Yeah, but,” Julian started, twisting the fingers of his free hand, the hand not filled with and groping a hard plane of muscle, in the thin cotton of the other’s undershirt, “is it just the touch you want, or me?”

“I- what?” Mortimer asked, feeling the back of Julian’s head, finding that he slept with his hair in a high bun. He played with the hairs that needed trimmed at the base of his neck while he waited for the blonde to elaborate. He yearned to press closer to the blonde, but his hips were held steady by the hand on his thigh and the other’s knees pressing against his free leg, keeping his pelvis back.

“If you just want a quick fuck,” Julian said, nuzzling the slight chub that rested toward Mortimer’s armpit, pushing up the cotton with his nose, “I’d be glad to take you in, to take my pleasure in you. Let you find out if – god, I love the way my deodorant smells on you – if dick is for you. If you just want a body, I’ll be that body,” he said, sliding his hand backward toward the leg of Mortimer’s briefs. He traced his middle finger along the edge of the cotton, and Mortimer gasped when those slipped under the fabric. “I love sex, Mortimer,” the blonde growled, raising his head from where it had been buried in the pudgy arm, “and I’m perfectly capable of separating acts from emotions. If you want a friend you can have sex with, I can do that, but you have to realize that I’m going to continue having sex with other people.” Still just barely under the fabric, Julian’s fingers moved toward Mortimer’s hip. “But if you want me, all of me, if you want some kind of romance – dates and flowers and all those things that normal, god-fearing people do, well,” he stopped to take a breath. “Well, those things aren’t easy for people like us, so we have to work out a plan.”

“A plan?” Mortimer asked, quivering, unsure if it was from fear or desire. As he swallowed thickly, he decided it was dizzying amounts of both.

“A plan on how to not get caught. Two years in jail is nothing to take lightly, Mortimer.” The other using his name in such a serious tone made all of the older man stand up and take notice. From the hairs at the back of his neck to his pounding heart, to his throbbing length, Mortimer was captivated by the other.

“Then why-“ Mortimer had to suck in a deep breath, seemingly unable to find the air around them “-even suggest it? You told me that if I like women to stick to them. Why don’t you do the same? Why are you letting me this close when you know it’s dangerous? When it’s not exactly love just yet?”

“Because I like it, love. You seem to have a high opinion of me, but you shouldn’t,” Julian said, pushing one of his legs forward, rolling them over. Mortimer clung like the blonde was going to get off the bed, fisted his hands in the nightshirt and held tight. Not that either could see it in the dark room, but Mortimer’s knuckles turned white with his intense grip, bones straining against the skin. “I’m a sinner through-and-through, Mortimer,” Julian breathed against the neck of Mortimer’s shirt. The brunette shivered at the feeling of the cracked lips brushing his skin. “Just because I can be kind to strangers or even care about their feelings doesn’t make me a good person in and if itself. I work, I eat, I drink and I fuck. That’s my life, and I’m happy with it.” He let his fingers trail up Toad’s chubby sides, pulling his shirt up a little as he went. “I don’t want kids, which is why I’ve lost every woman I’ve ever loved.

“I can’t say I’d mind a more permanent companion, but I’m not looking for a family, and I’m sure as hell not looking for a community.” Julian sat back, straddling Mortimer’s legs. He took a few calming breaths as he worked his fingers into the grip of the trembling ones in his shirt. “I’m a terrible Catholic. Hell, I’m barely even Christian. I’m more of a Deist than anything, and I kicked the church a long time ago - before it could kick me for my tastes.

“And I’m not,” he paused with a sigh, letting go of the hands in his to climb off of the other, “I’m not a fighter, either,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees as he settled into a seated position on the side of the bed close to the bedside stand.

Mortimer timidly put a hand out, feeling for the blonde as said man reached out for his cigarettes blindly. The brunette held his breath as Julian struck a match to light one. He watched the light dance over the troubled features until the match was shaken out and the glowing tip of the cigarette moved with Julian’s hand.

“I can understand why people fight for things, sure, but that’s not for me. I’ve spent the last decade and a half running. I ran from the orphanage, I ran from the lab, I ran from the cops and I ran from Alexa. I’m only good enough to save my own hide, and I’m not willing to put my safety on the line for a relationship, so, if that’s what you want, we need a plan.” Julian sighed and turned a bit, taking one of Mortimer’s hands that shook, fisted in his nightshirt. “I’m sorry,” he said, stroking his thumb over the tubby fingers.

“No, don’t be,” Mortimer said, wrapping himself around Julian as best he could, pressing his belly to the other’s back. Drawing his knees up to press against one of Julian’s thighs. “You make yourself sound selfish, but you’ve been so kind to me. Much better than the people who left me. You’re gentle and giving and you’ve never killed anyone, so-“ Julian snorted, interrupting the brunette’s words. “What?”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Julian said, sighing smoke out of his nose.

“What?” Mortimer asked, and gulped. “You’ve- you’ve killed someone?”

“It was an accident, and I was only fourteen, but yeah,” Julian said quietly. He lit another cigarette with the butt of the last and felt out for the ashtray to stub his old smoke out in.

“Well, if it was an accident, I can’t really blame you. I- I’ve done it on purpose. Never with my own hands, but I’ve done things that have led directly to the deaths of people. I’ve tried to tell you this, but-“ Julian interrupted again. He turned to face the form curled up around him.

“Weren’t you under Magneto’s control? I can’t blame you for something you did under duress,” he said, threading the fingers of his free hand in Mortimer’s hair.

“In a way, but I went willingly. I still hold some of his ideals.”

“Like what?”

“Like equality for mutants.”

“Anyone with half a brain believes in that, most people are just afraid of what they don’t understand,” Julian said quietly. He smoked his cigarette while petting Mortimer’s hair, scratching his scalp.

“I could fall in love with you,” Mortimer offered.

“I could probably fall in love with you too,” Julian answered, holding the cigarette out to offer it to Mortimer. The brunette took a drag, letting his lips brush Julian’s fingers.

“I wish you would,” the shorter man answered honestly, resting his cheek on Julian’s knee. The blonde hummed softly in response. He chain smoked and petted Mortimer’s hair until the older man fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What am I even doing with my life?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets pretty close to earning the explicit rating.

“Hey,” Mortimer heard, the remainder of a dream flitting away like a pack of fairies tittering as they danced away on a breeze just out of his reach. “Hey, love,” he heard again, numbly reaching out for the giggling lights. He let out a short, heavy breath at the feeling of hands on the outsides of his thighs, spreading them to push more into the touch. “Oh,” he heard a hoarse mumbling as the hands slipped under his thighs as he bent his knees to lift them from the mattress. “Oh, love, wake up.”

His lips parted and his eyes opened as he recognized Julian’s voice. Mortimer blinked slowly and licked his lips. He canted his hips and whined when he felt the other pull away slightly, the caress on his legs becoming more firm, holding him in place.

“Julian?” Mortimer croaked, reaching out for the other.

“Yeah,” Julian answered, his voice gravelly, making Mortimer’s length give an interested twitch. The blonde let Mortimer take ahold of him for a moment, one hand cupping the back of his head, the other resting heavily on a broad shoulder. “It’s late, love. You should get up.” Mortimer gave a soft whine, trying to push up against the hard body on top of him. Julian’s breath was coming in heavy pants, his fingers squeezing just a little too hard, digging roughly into the tender flesh. “Love, please,” the taller man rasped, drawing back, raking his nails down the pale thighs. Mortimer moaned at the sensation, trailing off in a displeased groan when the other pulled away entirely.

The older man finally sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes. He flushed when he took in Julian’s form, still in his work clothes, his hair down, one knee on the bed. He flexed and curled his fingers while remembering the feeling of the soft strands under his fingers.

“Sorry,” he eventually mumbled.

“Shh,” Julian said teasingly. “You’re alright, love,” he offered, standing up straight. “You really slept in, love.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s almost six,” Julian offered.

“At night?” Mortimer nearly shrieked, jumping out of bed. He made to rush by the blonde to grab some clothes to put on, but froze when Julian’s long fingers wrapped around his thick bicep. The brunette drew in a sharp breath and turned toward the other, letting him lead him by his touch. “J-Julian?” Mortimer asked quietly.

“You’re alright, love,” Julian promised, taking up the shorter man’s other arm in his free hand. “You needed your rest. I just wanted you to eat while the food is still warm,” he said, giving a small, strained smile.

Mortimer let out a sigh that was somewhere between relieved and disappointed, leaning his head forward to rest it on Julian’s chest. He could feel Julian’s collarbone pressing harshly into his hairline, could hear the other swallow before taking his hands from the shorter man’s arms. The brunette cooed when shapely arms wrapped around his shoulders, sighed when long fingers worked the sleep-tangles from his hair. “I didn’t mean to sleep all day,” he mumbled pitifully. After a minute, Julian simply wrapped the shorter man up in a tight hug. Mortimer made a happy sound and wrapped his own arms around Julian. “Wanted to have food ready for you when you got home.”

“No, love, you need to rest when you can. I know what it’s like not to be able to sleep.” When Julian drew back, Mortimer fought the urge to pull him back in. “Besides, they sent me home early today. I was back for a couple hours before I went out and got sandwiches.”

“Hot sandwiches?” Mortimer asked with a raised brow.

“Mm, yes,” Julian said, leading Mortimer from the bedroom by a hand on his back. “Open-faced roast beef. They’re really good, but you should probably put on some pants first.” Julian’s chuckle brought a bright blush to Mortimer’s cheeks, and the blonde continued to giggle at the spreading pink.

Mortimer quickly put on his pants from the previous day.

The two ate and chatted, even pouring over the day’s classifieds, discussing Mortimer’s job opportunities. After dinner, Mortimer picked up the trash and cleaned the utensils, face radiating heat from the way his blonde keeper of sorts was smiling at him.

“Hey, love,” Julian started, and Mortimer almost tripped over himself in an effort to hop to Julian’s side. “I was planning on going out tonight for a while. Would you like to come with me?” he asked so casually, crossing his legs and once more opening the paper.

“You’re going,” and Mortimer stopped for a moment, carefully sitting next to the blonde, “to a queer bar?” He tried not to sound excited, busied himself with pulling over his backpack, organizing its contents.

“Not for too terribly long. A friend of mine that you haven’t met yet is dancing, and I thought you might like to come see. We can stop by Kitty’s right quick, have a few quick drinks and head on over to Stonewall.”

“Stonewall?” Mortimer asked, sounding floored. He dropped his bag and turned to Julian. “Isn’t that place Mafia run?”

Julian raised a brow. “Probably. But, how would you know that?”

“I, well, my old boss used to have dealings with the Mafia. Well, I mean, sort of. I just- There’s a few places around town that I’m aware of. Uh,” Mortimer said, nervously twiddling his thumbs, “places that are Mafia run, that is.” He hunched his shoulders and looked up at Julian through his bangs. “If someone recognizes me,” he trailed off and looked away as the blonde cocked his head curiously, “I don’t want that to cause you any trouble.”

“Oh, love,” Julian said, sounding amused and almost pitying, “you don’t have to worry about me. We can get out of any situation at any time.”

“We?” Mortimer asked, his shoulders cautiously relaxing.

“Of course, love,” Julian said, folded the paper and set it aside. He uncrossed his legs and moved closer to Mortimer, throwing his arm around the stocky man’s shoulders. Mortimer found his shoulders drawing up to his ears again, leaning into the other. “Why would I take you in just to throw you to the wolves again, eh?” Mortimer made a noise in his throat and Julian’s grip tightened. “You’re alright, love,” Julian promised.

Mortimer could almost believe him.

“So, want to come out with me?” Julian asked. “You’re free to stay here if you don’t.”

“No, I’d like to go. You- uh, you said your friend was performing. Uh, dancing? What does your friend do?” the brunette asked, getting comfortable against the younger man’s side.

Julian chuckled warmly, a shiver working its way up Mortimer’s spine in response. “If I told you it would take away from the surprise. But, if it’s at a queer bar, you can probably guess.”

An hour later, they’re at Kitty’s, and Julian is knocking back drinks. The blonde has his arm around St. John’s shoulders, and they’re singing Sinatra. Nancy, not Frank. They dissolve into a giggle fit, and their laughter grows raucous when Armando gives them a shove for getting too close.

“Hey,” Mortimer heard to his left and looked over. An open bottle of beer was placed at his elbow and Kitty flopped down into one of the few available seats. “I put it on Jul’s tab, so drink up,” she said with a smirk.

“I- um-” Mortimer stuttered.

“Hush. Just drink it. If he has a fit, it’s on the house.” At that, the shorter mutant gave in and picked up the bottle.

“Thanks,” he said softly, his voice barely rising above the chatter in the bar.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said and gave a heavy sigh. She pushed her hair out of her face before leaning forward on her elbows, resting them on the table. She studied Mortimer for a moment, and he made a point of looking everywhere but at her, his cheeks lighting up with a blush. “You’re adorable,” she said with a deep chuckle. “I can see why he likes you so much.”

“What?” Mortimer squeaked, choking on his drink. Kitty laughed and sat back in her chair, slapping the table.

“It’s a shame you’re not a woman,” she said, resting her chin on her knuckles. “You could get him to knock you up and get him for life. God, he’d spend everything on you.” She stopped for a moment to think as Mortimer’s blush creeped all over his face and down into the neck of his button-down. “Then again, maybe it’s a good thing you’re not, because he’d stop coming here.” Kitty chuckled again. “Why aren’t you taking advantage of the opportunity ya got here? Don’t tell me you’re already in love with him. You’ve been around, what, a week?” Mortimer squeezed the neck of his bottle and refused to look directly at Kitty, instead watching Julian and St. John try to harass Armando into singing with them. “Oh god. You are, aren’t you?”

Mortimer ignored her question. Instead he asked, “Is he,” and paused for a moment, “promiscuous?”

“Yeah,” Kitty answered bluntly. “But he’s a real sweetie, ya know. He’ll take care of you if you let him.” She sighed and leaned forward, trying to get into Mortimer’s line of sight. “He doesn’t have a lot of sex when he’s serious about someone. But, he drinks a lot more. It’s- He gets his little heart broken pretty easily, the poor shit.” The shorter mutant jumped when Kitty put her hand on his arm. “He’s not a bad guy, you know.”

“I know,” Mortimer said, finally looking over at Kitty. Her eyes shined in the low light of the bar and she smiled sadly.

The sad sheen was replaced with a devious glitter when she said, “you should go sing with him.”

“Oh no,” Mortimer said, holding up his hands defensively.

“Nonsense,” she said, and stood. She called out to Julian, “hey, Juls, Holy Man! Come sing with Morty!”

Mortimer groaned miserably as the two blondes made their way over and Kitty tittered near-maniacally.

After a half-dozen drinks, whatever Julian or Kitty put in his hand, Mortimer was singing along with the inebriated blondes. They giggled at his hiccups between belting lyrics to songs that might embarrass sober men. When Kitty had another free moment, she even joined in, bumping her hip into Mortimer, knocking him off balance.

Julian made a valiant attempt to catch his roommate, but they both wound up on the floor, laughing. St. John hurried away from the scene, joining Dom in their quiet corner. Threading his fingers in Mortimer’s hair for a moment, Julian smiled, his laughter trailing off. He pulled the brunette in, pushing the other’s head to his chest for a few seconds.

“OK,” he announced, “I think we’ve had enough to drink.” He stood and helped Mortimer to his feet. The older mutant caught the look Kitty gave him from where she’d scurried off to behind the bar and fought the urge to make a rude gesture at her when she stuck out her tongue. Mortimer couldn’t help the damnable smile that worked its way onto his face.

Julian chain-smoked the whole twenty minute walk to fight the urge to take Mortimer’s hand in his own. The pleasantly cool air helped him regretfully sober up, helped him realize how close Mortimer was walking with him. He sighed sadly.

If the shorter mutant noticed, he didn’t say anything. He did part his lips, a question on the tip of his tongue when Julian took his hand, a little over a block away from their destination. His query died in his throat when the familiar heat consumed him. Mortimer blinked and, when he opened his eyes, the streets were empty.

“Wha-” Mortimer never finished his question, Julian tugging him along, looking back to smile. The brunette followed, tightening his grip on the broad, long-fingered hand.

They slipped into the bar, which was equally empty, and Mortimer pulled the blonde to him just inside the door.

“Where are we?” he asked as Julian braced himself on the wall, hands splayed on either side of the brunette’s recently fixed hair.

“The bar. Another universe,” he supplied, letting his lips brush a pudgy cheek as he spoke.

“What’s here?”

“New York is deserted,” Julian answered, smirking. “We’re completely alone,” he said, pressing his lips to Mortimer’s jaw.

“We-” and Mortimer choked on his own spit, turning his head up, offering up his neck, “we are, aren’t we.”

“Mm,” Julian hummed happily against the taut skin. Mortimer closed his eyes, letting his hands come to rest on the taller man’s hips. He whined at the soft, teasing kisses Julian littered up his neck. He squeaked when Julian pinched his nose, holding it shut. His head would have hit the wall if Julian’s other hand hadn’t slithered behind his head to stop it from a harsh collision with the wood paneling. “I’m starting to sober up and realize that this is a really bad idea. You should stop me.”

“I don’t want to,” Mortimer chanced.

“You should, love. You should,” Julian muttered, pulling back. “Besides, if we don’t get back, we’ll miss the show.”

Mortimer gave a frustrated whine and Julian chuckled, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.

“I have tomorrow off. We can,” he huffed out a noise between a chuckle and a sigh, “we can talk then. Ya know, like I said we would.”

“Talk,” Mortimer repeated.

“Yeah,” Julian said with a slight nod. He took one hand from his pocket and reached out for one of Mortimer’s hands, which were hanging limply at his sides. “Ready to go back?”

“No, but,” the brunette started, lacing his fingers with Julian’s, “we probably should, huh? Why did we even leave in the first place?”

“I wanted to get us in without having to sign a ledger,” Julian answered. “I would have, since I usually drink elsewhere, and I’m only here to see a show, but I don’t want your name to wind up there.”

“Ah,” Mortimer said, a warm feeling spreading through his chest and face, a tingling sensation creeping up from the base of his skull. “It wouldn’t matter anyway. I’m here illegally, I’ve got no legit address.”

“You’re not Irish or Jewish, so I doubt anyone would think you’re here illegally. I wouldn’t tell people you are, if I were you, though.”

“I know, I just,” he squeezed Julian’s hand tightly for a second. “I trust you.”

“Thank you,” Julian whispered, tugging the brunette to him by his grip on his hand.

Mortimer whimpered at the heat that rolled up from under their feet. He braced himself on the blonde as the dusty, stale air was replaced with the smell of sulfur, then of beer and sweat and too-strong perfumes.

“You alright?” Julian asked, running his fingers through Mortimer’s hair once before smoothing it back down.

“Yeah,” he breathed in response, reluctantly pulling himself from Julian’s embrace. “When is your friend gonna dance?”

“I don’t know. He just said after eleven. Want to come with me to find him?” Julian asked, putting his hand on Mortimer’s lower back so he could keep contact with him.

“What else would I do?” Mortimer joked, giving a small, forced smile.

“Oh, there’s lots to do around here. But. Let’s find Freddy, eh?” The name made Mortimer pull a face, but Julian missed it, looking through the crowd for a familiar mop – nearly literally – of blonde curls.

When they finally spot the man, Mortimer tries to pull away. Julian gives him a confused look and pushes him forward, but his feet want to stay rooted to the hard wood. The look of confusion turns to one a parent might give a petulant child, then to one said child might give back. He pouts, and it accentuates the healing bruises and cuts on the Welshman’s features.

Mortimer doesn’t have a chance to protest when Julian grabs his wrist and all but drags the man up to the other.

“Hey, doll,” Julian drawls, waving shortly. “I told you I’d be here,” he said, raising a brow at the way Mortimer hid behind him. He let it go for the moment when he was asked,

“Not dressing up tonight?”

“No,” Julian said with a chuckle, motioning for the bartender. “My face is so messed up that no amount of makeup could hide it,” he answered, and gave his order shortly after. He tossed a single on the counter and tipped back his tall glass. “But, hey, I told you about my new roommate, right?” He asked, setting the glass down to wrestle with Mortimer until he stood between the two.

Mortimer looked at the countertop, at Julian’s hand, at the other man’s drink. He did everything he could to avoid raising his head to meet Blob’s gaze. A very, very made-up gaze, one that was tinged with blue to match his dress, lined with the same color black as his massive heeled boots.

“Freddy, this is-”

“Mortimer, I know,” Freddy answered, tipping back a beer of his own. Mortimer stuttered out a greeting as the bigger man side-eyed him. “What’re you doing here?”

“You two know each other?” Julian asked, a broad grin splitting his face. His eyes lit up, and Mortimer didn’t want to break his heart by saying they weren’t exactly friends. Not anymore.

“We used to work together,” Mortimer managed after a minute of stuttering. He shrunk away when Freddy glared at him. He wound up bumping into Julian’s chest, watching Blob suck on the inside of his cheek, his nostrils flare. The man was still intimidating, even in a dress, heels and a tragically fake-looking wig.

“Yeah, and just what did you tell him about work, Mortimer?” Blob asked over the rim of his glass.

“Not much,” Julian answered once it was clear that the cat had the older man’s tongue. He pressed his chest to Mortimer’s back and wrapped one arm around his shoulders. “But what he did tell me won’t ever leave my lips, love, so relax.” Julian smiled into brown, slightly curled locks and Freddy huffed. He knocked back the rest of his drink and put his cup down just a bit too hard, barking an order for another beer that made Julian laugh and Mortimer tremble. “If I go to the bathroom, can I trust you not to kill Morty?” Julian asked, turning on the puppy dog eyes full blast.

“Of course,” Blob said, his lips turning down in an intense frown. “I’m not going to kill anyone,” he trailed off for a moment as the bartender placed his glass back in front of him, “if I can help it.”

“Good, then,” Julian said, taking a few singles from his pocket, lipping them into a tense Mortimer’s hand. “Have a drink, love. Don’t be so uptight.” Mortimer let out a breathy, nervous whine when Julian pulled away. “I’ll be right around the corner if you need me, eh?”

As he walked away, Julian heard Mortimer meekly ask, “So, why’d you stay in New York?”

When Julian hadn’t returned twenty minutes later, the brunette grew concerned. “What’s taking him so long?” he wondered aloud.

“Probably went for a quick shag in the bathroom,” Freddy answered, knowing full well Mortimer wasn’t actually asking him.

“He doesn’t do that, does he?”

Blob raised a brow in response.

“You don’t know him very well, do you?” Mortimer looked down at the drink in his hands in lieu of giving a response. “Couldn’t find anything better to do than running off and shaking up with some guy, huh?”

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” Mortimer said, swallowing down every confession that was bubbling up in his throat; Wanda, past suicide attempts, missing Freddy.

“I bet,” was all Freddy said.

“Well, I’m going to go see what’s taking him so long.”

“Have fun with that,” Freddy answered with a deep chuckle and a minute shake of his head. “You both better be back in fifteen minutes.”

Inside the restroom, Mortimer ducked into a stall immediately. He couldn’t believe the scene he’d been greeted with, and his feet had carried him on autopilot, his hands shaking as he locked the flimsy stall door. He would have been proud of himself for not tripping over the man strung out and sprawled across the filthy floor, but instead found himself pressed up against the rickety door. He watched, breath caught in his throat, as Julian held himself up by the edge of the sink, being drilled into a rather short, stocky individual. The blonde’s pants were around his ankles, his shirt rucked up and held between his teeth. He looked over his shoulder or, rather, would have if his eyes weren’t closed.

The man that Mortimer found rather unattractive – not that he found many men attractive – had Julian’s hips in a vice-grip, bruising the pale flesh as he slammed into the whimpering man. He couldn’t see the object of his desire very well, but the sounds drifting through the gaps in the door were driving Mortimer up the wall. He made quick work of his button and fly, and looked through the gap in the door to watch the side of Julian’s face twisted up in pained pleasure. Julian’s whining took on a fevered pitch as Mortimer took himself in hand, the stranger muttering filthy things just loud enough for the brunette to hear.

“No, no, no, not yet, come on!” Julian whined, and shoved himself back against the stranger. “Please, please,” he begged, and Mortimer spit in his hand. He stroked himself faster, chewing on his bottom lip.

He made a mess of the door seconds after Julian let out a long, loud, irritated groan. After taking a few deep breaths, Mortimer opened his eyes, not realizing he’d closed them. At the gruff “ah, come on,” Mortimer looked through the gap to find Julian arguing with the stranger. “Fuck it,” Julian said as the man walked away and the blonde turned around to lean against the sink. The stranger didn’t even stop to watch as Julian rucked up his shirt again, taking it in his teeth, wrapping a long fingered hand around his – frankly quite average – dick. He made quick work of getting himself off, and Mortimer’s dick made a valiant effort to get hard again. He watched Julian’s eyes roll back in his head, watched him lean even more heavily against the counter. When Julian turned to clean himself up, Mortimer wiped up the mess he made with toilet tissue.

Julian splashed his face with water and stared at himself in the mirror for a long moment. He made an irritated noise and fussed over his clothes and hair for another minute before skipping off, accidentally kicking the leg of, and apologizing to, the man sprawled out on the floor. When the door closed behind the blonde, Mortimer couldn’t help but laugh. He let his head hit the stall door with a loud noise, groaning miserably.

When the brunette returned to where he’d been sitting with Freddy, the larger man was getting up, heading off toward a makeshift stage across the way.

“Ah, there you are!” Julian said with a bright smile, sipping on something brown with a sprig of mint sticking out of it.

“I- yeah, sorry,” he muttered. He happily let himself be pulled in close against the blonde, between his legs, which were spread and hooked around the legs of the stool the taller man was seated on. He pressed his face into Julian’s chest and let the other run his fingers through his hair, shaking with the knowledge of what those hands were just doing moments ago.

Freddy danced, and Julian whooped excitedly, but Mortimer couldn’t focus on anything other than how it felt to be pressed against the blonde’s breast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what I'm doing anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't promise this will be updated very often. Perhaps once a month is the best I can guarantee. But, if you liked it, leave a comment with why, please. Absolutely leave a comment if you hate it or noticed an overuse of a trope, poor grammatical choices, a misspelled word, etc. I'd greatly appreciate any insight.


End file.
